THE  QUIRT 


36,  flD*  3Bowet 


GOOD  INDIAN 

LONESOME  LAND 

THE  UPHILL  CLIMB 

THE  GEINGOS 

THE  RANCH  AT  THE  WOLVERINE 

THE  FLYING  U's  LAST  STAND 

JEAN  OF  THE  LAZY  A 

THE  PHANTOM  HERD 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  Sioux 

STAKE,  OF  THE  DESEET 

THE  LOOKOUT  MAN 

CABIN  FEVEE 

SKYRIDEE 

THE  THUNDEE  BIED 

RIM  o'  THE  WORLD 

THE  QUIRT 


Al's  gun  spoke,  and  Warfield  sagged  at  the  knees  and  the 
shoulders,  and  slumped  to  the  ground. 

FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  294. 

- 


THE  QUIRT 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER 


WITH   FRONTISPIECE  BY 

ANTON  OTTO  FISCHER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 
1920 


Copyright,  Z$2O, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN.  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published  May,  1920 


URL 
SRLF 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    LITTLE  FISH 1 

EL    THE   ENCHANTMENT   OF   LONG   DIS- 
TANCE      12 

HI.    BEAUTY    is  WEIGHED   AND  FOUND 

WANTING 22 

IV.    "SHE'S   A   GOOD   GIRL  WHEN  SHE 

AIN'T  CRAZY"        ....      38 

V.    A  DEATH  "  BY  ACCIDENT  "        .        .      54 

VI.    LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       ...      68 

VII.    THE  MAN  AT  WHISPEB        ...      85 

VIII.    "!T  TAKES  NERVE   JUST  TO  HANG 

ON" 100 

IX.  THE  EVIL  EYE  OF  THE  SAWTOOTH      .    115 

X.  ANOTHER  SAWTOOTH  "  ACCIDENT  "    .    126 

XI.  SWAN  TALKS  WITH  His  THOUGHTS    .    144 

XII.  THE  QUIET  PARRIES  THE  FIRST  BLOW    158 

"XIII.  LONE  TAKES  His  STAND      .        .        .168 

XIV.  "  FRANK'S  DEAD  "       .        .        .        .178 

XV.  SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE      .        .       .    192 

XVI.  THE  SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND       .    200 

XVII.  YACK  DON'T  LIE  .        .        .        .        .216 

XVIII.     UI    THINK    AL    WOODRUFF'S    GOT 

HER"  233 


vi  CONTENTS 


XIX. 

SWAN  CALLS  FOE  HELP 

. 

245 

XX. 

KIDNAPPED  .... 

.       . 

255 

XXT. 

"  OH,  I  COULD  KTTJ.  You  !  " 

. 

264 

XXII. 

"YACK,  I  LICK  You  GOOD 
BABK"    .... 

IF  You 

277 

XXHI. 

"I    COULDA    LOVED    THIS 
GIRL"     .... 

LITTLE 

•               • 

284 

XXIV. 

ANOTHER  STORY  BEGINS     . 

t              • 

296 

THE   QUIRT 


THE  QJJIRT 

CHAPTER  ONE 

LITTLE  FISH 

QUIRT  CREEK  flowed  sluggishly  between 
willows  which  sagged  none  too  gracefully 
across  its  deeper  pools,  or  languished  beside  the 
rocky  stretches  that  were  bone  dry  from  July  to 
October,  with  a  narrow  channel  in  the  center 
where  what  water  there  was  hurried  along  to  the 
pools  below.  For  a  mile  or  more,  where  the  land 
lay  fairly  level  in  a  platter-like  valley  set  in  the 
lower  hills,  the  mud  that  rimmed  the  pools  was 
scored  deep  with  the  tracks  of  the  "  T J  up-and- 
down  "  cattle,  as  the  double  monogram  of  Hunter 
and  Johnson  was  called. 

A  hard  brand  to  work,  a  cattleman  would  tell 
you.  Yet  the  T  J  up-and-down  herd  never  seemed 
to  increase  beyond  a  niggardly  three  hundred  or 
so,  though  the  Quirt  ranch  was  older  than  its 
lordly  neighbors,  the  Sawtooth  Cattle  Company, 


2  THE  QUIRT 

who  numbered  their  cattle  by  tens  of  thousands 
and  whose  riders  must  have  strings  of  fifteen 
horses  apiece  to  keep  them  going ;  older  too  than 
many  a  modest  ranch  that  had  nourished  awhile 
and  had  finished  as  line-camps  of  the  Sawtooth 
when  the  Sawtooth  bought  ranch  and  brand  for 
a  lump  sum  that  looked  big  to  the  rancher,  who 
immediately  departed  to  make  himself  a  new 
home  elsewhere:  older  than  others  which  had 
somehow  gone  to  pieces  when  the  rancher  died  or 
went  to  the  penitentiary  under  the  stigma  of  a 
long  sentence  as  a  cattle  thief.  There  were  many 
such,  for  the  Sawtooth,  powerful  and  stern 
against  outlawry,  tolerated  no  pilfering  from 
their  thousands. 

The  less  you  have,  the  more  careful  you  are  of 
your  possessions.  Hunter  and  Johnson  owned 
exactly  a  section  and  a  half  of  land,  and  for  a 
mile  and  a  half  Quirt  Creek  was  fenced  upon 
either  side.  They  hired  two  men,  cut  what  hay 
they  could  from  a  field  which  they  irrigated,  fed 
their  cattle  through  the  cold  weather,  watched 
them  zealously  through  the  summer,  and  man- 
aged to  ship  enough  beef  each  fall  to  pay  their 
grocery  bill  and  their  men's  wages  and  have  a 
balance  sufficient  to  buy  what  clothes  they 


LITTLE  FISH  8 

needed,  and  perhaps  pay  a  doctor  if  one  of  them 
fell  ill.  Which  frequently  happened,  since  Brit 
was  becoming  a  prey  to  rheumatism  that  some- 
times kept  him  in  bed,  and  Prank  occasionally 
indulged  himself  in  a  gallon  or  so  of  bad  whisky 
and  suffered  afterwards  from  a  badly  deranged 
digestion. 

Their  house  was  a  two-room  log  cabin,  built 
when  logs  were  easier  to  get  than  lumber.  That 
the  cabin  contained  two  rooms  was  the  result  of 
circumstances  rather  than  design.  Brit  had 
hauled  from  the  mountain-side  logs  long  and 
logs  short,  and  it  had  seemed  a  shame  to  cut  the 
long  ones  any  shorter.  Later,  when  the  outside 
world  had  crept  a  little  closer  to  their  wilder- 
ness— as,  go  where  you  will,  the  outside  world 
has  a  way  of  doing — he  had  built  a  lean-to  shed 
against  the  cabin  from  what  lumber  there  was 
left  after  building  a  cowshed  against  the  log  barn. 

In  the  early  days,  Brit  had  had  a  wife  and  two 
children,  but  the  wife  could  not  endure  the  lone- 
liness of  the  ranch  nor  the  inconvenience  of  living 
in  a  two-room  log  cabin.  She  was  continually 
worrying  over  rattlesnakes  and  diphtheria  and 
pneumonia,  and  begging  Brit  to  sell  out  and  live 
in  town.  She  had  married  him  because  he  was  a 


4  THE  QUIRT 

cowboy,  and  because  lie  was  a  nimble  dancer  and 
rode  gallantly  with,  silver-shanked  spurs  ajingle 
on  his  heels  and  a  snakeskin  band  around  his  hat, 
and  because  a  ranch,  away  out  on  Quirt  Creek  had 
sounded  exactly  like  a  story  in  a  book. 

Adventure,  picturesqueness,  even  romance,  are 
recognized  and  appreciated  only  at  a  distance. 
Mrs.  Hunter  lost  the  perspective  of  romance  and 
adventure,  and  shed  tears  because  there  was  suffi- 
cient mineral  in  the  water  to  yellow  her  week's 
washing,  and  for  various  other  causes  which  she 
had  never  foreseen  and  to  which  she  refused  to 
resign  herself. 

Came  a  time  when  she  delivered  a  shrill-voiced, 
tear-blurred  ultimatum  to  Brit.  Either  he  must 
sell  out  and  move  to  town,  or  she  would  take  the 
children  and  leave  him.  Of  towns  Brit  knew 
nothing  except  the  post-office,  saloon,  cheap  res- 
taurant side, — and  a  barber  shop  where  a  fellow 
could  get  a  shave  and  hair-cut  before  he  went  to 
see  his  girl.  Brit  could  not  imagine  himself 
actually  living,  day  after  day,  in  a  town.  Three 
or  four  days  had  always  been  his  limit.  It  was 
in  a  restaurant  that  he  had  first  met  his  wife. 
He  had  stayed  three  days  when  he  had  meant  to 
finish  his  business  in  one,  because  there  was  an 


LITTLE  FISH  & 

awfully  nice  girl  waiting  on  table  in  the  Palace, 
and  because  there  was  going  to  be  a  dance  on 
Saturday  night,  and  he  wanted  his  acquaintance 
with  her  to  develop  to  the  point  where  he  might 
ask  her  to  go  with  him,  and  be  reasonably  certain 
of  a  favorable  answer. 

Brit  would  not  sell  his  ranch.  In  this  Frank 
Johnson,  old-time  friend  and  neighbor,  who  had 
taken  all  the  land  the  government  would  allow 
one  man  to  hold,  and  whose  lines  joined  Brit's, 
profanely  upheld  him.  They  had  planned  to  run 
cattle  together,  had  their  brand  already  recorded, 
and  had  scraped  together  enough  money  to  buy 
a  dozen  young  cows.  Luckily,  Brit  had  "  proven 
up  "  on  his  homestead,  so  that  when  the  irate 
Mrs.  Hunter  deserted  him  she  did  not  jeopardize 
his  right  to  the  land. 

Brit  was  philosophical,  thinking  that  a  year  or 
so  of  town  life  would  be  a  cure.  If  he  missed  the 
children,  he  was  free  from  tears  and  nagging 
complaints,  so  that  his  content  balanced  his  lone- 
liness. Frank  proved  ap  and  came  down  to  live 
with  him,  and  the  partnership  began  to  wear  into 
permanency.  Share  and  share  alike,  they  lived 
and  worked  and  wrangled  together  like  brothers. 

For  months  Brit's  wife  was  too  angry  and. 


6  THE  QUIRT 

spiteful  to  write.  Then  she  wrote  acrimoni- 
ously, reminding  Brit  of  his  duty  to  his  children. 
Koyal  was  old  enough  for  school  and  needed 
clothes.  She  was  slaving  for  them  as  she  had 
never  thought  to  slave  when  Brit  promised  to 
honor  and  protect  her,  but  the  fact  remained  that 
he  was  their  father  even  if  he  did  not  act  like  one. 
She  needed  at  least  ten  dollars. 

Brit  showed  the  letter  to  Frank,  and  the  two 
talked  it  over  solemnly  while  they  sat  on  in- 
verted feed  buckets  beside  the  stable,  facing  the 
unearthly  beauty  of  a  cloud-piled  Idaho  sunset. 
They  did  not  feel  that  they  could  afford  to  sell 
a  cow,  and  two-year-old  steers  were  out  of  the 
question.  They  decided  to  sell  an  unbroken 
colt  that  a  cow-puncher  fancied.  In  a  week  Brit 
wrote  a  brief,  matter-of-fact  letter  to  Minnie  and 
enclosed  a  much-worn  ten-dollar  banknote.  With 
the  two  dollars  and  a  half  which  remained  of  his 
share  of  the  sale,  Brit  sent  to  a  mail-order  house 
for  a  mackinaw  coat,  and  felt  cheated  afterwards 
because  the  coat  was  not  "wind  and  water 
proof  "  as  advertised  in  the  catalogue. 

More  months  passed,  and  Brit  received,  by 
registered  mail,  a  notice  that  he  was  being  sued 
for  divorce  on  the  ground  of  non-support.  Ho 


LITTLE  FISH  7 

felt  hurt,  because,  as  he  pointed  out  to  Frank,  he 
was  perfectly  willing  to  support  Minnie  and  the 
kids  if  they  came  back  where  he  could  have  a 
chance.  He  wrote  this  painstakingly  to  the 
lawyer  and  received  no  reply.  Later  he  learned 
from  Minnie  that  she  had  freed  herself  from  him, 
and  that  she  was  keeping  boarders  and  asking 
no  odds  of  him. 

To  come  at  once  to  the  end  of  Brit's  matri- 
monial affairs,  he  heard  from  the  children  once 
in  a  year,  perhaps,  after  they  were  old  enough  to 
write.  He  did  not  send  them  money,  because  he 
seemed  never  to  have  any  money  to  send,  and  be- 
cause they  did  not  ask  for  any.  Dumbly  he 
sensed,  as  their  handwriting  and  their  spelling 
improved,  that  his  children  were  growing  up. 
B!ut  when  he  thought  of  them  they  seemed  re- 
mote, prattling  youngsters  whom  Minnie  was  for- 
ever worrying  over  and  who  seemed  to  have  been 
always  under  the  heels  of  his  horse,  or  under  the 
wheels  of  his  wagon,  or  playing  with  the  pitch- 
fork, or  wandering  off  into  the  sage  while  he  and 
their  distracted  mother  searched  for  them.  For 
a  long  while — how  many  years  Brit  could  not  re- 
member— they  had  been  living  in  Los  Angeles. 
Prospering,  too,  Brit  understood.  The  girl,  Lor- 


8  THE  QUIRT 

raine — Minnie  had  wanted  fancy  names  for  the 
kids,  and  Brit  apologized  whenever  he  spoke  of 
them,  which  was  seldom — Lorraine  had  written 
that  "  Mamma  has  an  apartment  house."  That 
had  sounded  prosperous,  even  at  the  beginning. 
And  as  the  years  passed  and  their  address  re- 
mained the  same,  Brit  became  fixed  in  the  belief 
that  the  Casa  Grande  was  all  that  its  name 
implied,  and  perhaps  more.  Minnie  must  be 
getting  rich.  She  had  a  picture  of  the  place  on 
the  stationery  which  Lorraine  used  when  she 
wrote  him.  There  were  two  palm  trees  in  front, 
with  bay  windows  behind  them,  and  pillars. 
Brit  used  to  study  these  magnificences  and  thank 
God  that  Minnie  was  doing  so  well.  He  never 
could  have  given  her  a  home  like  that.  Brit 
sometimes  added  that  he  had  never  been  cut  out 
for  a  married  man,  anyway. 

Old-timers  forgot  that  Brit  had  ever  been  mar- 
ried, and  late  comers  never  heard  of  it.  To  all 
intents  the  owners  of  the  Quirt  outfit  were  old 
bachelors  who  kept  pretty  much  to  themselves, 
went  to  town  only  when  they  needed  supplies, 
rode  old,  narrow-fork  saddles  and  grinned  scorn- 
fully at  "  swell-forks  "  and  "  buckin'-rolls,"  and 
listened  to  all  the  range  gossip  without  adding 


LITTLE  FISH  9 

so  much  as  an  opinion.  They  never  talked  poli- 
tics nor  told  which  candidates  received  their  two 
votes.  They  kept  the  same  two  men  season  after 
season, — leathery  old  range  hands  with  eyes  that 
saw  whatever  came  within  their  field  of  vision, 
and  with  the  gift  of  silence,  which  is  rare. 

If  you  know  anything  at  all  about  cattlemen, 
you  will  know  that  the  Quirt  was  a  poor  man's 
ranch,  when  I  tell  you  that  Hunter  and  Johnson 
milked  three  cows  and  made  butter,  fed  a  few 
pigs  on  the  skim  milk  and  the  alfalfa  stalks 
which  the  saddle  horses  and  the  cows  disdained 
to  eat,  kept  a  flock  of  chickens,  and  sold  what 
butter,  eggs  and  pork  they  did  not  need  for  them- 
selves. Cattlemen  seldom  do  that.  More  often 
they  buy  milk  in  small  tin  cans,  butter  in 
"  squares,"  and  do  without  eggs. 

Four  of  a  kind  were  the  men  of  the  T  J  up-and- 
down,  and  even  Bill  Warfield — president  and 
general  manager  of  the  Sawtooth  Cattle  Com- 
pany, and  of  the  Federal  Reclamation  Company 
and  several  other  companies,  State  senator  and 
general  benefactor  of  the  Sawtooth  country — 
even  the  great  Bill  Warfield  lifted  his  hat  to  the 
owners  of  the  Quirt  when  he  met  them,  and  spoke 
of  them  as  "  the  finest  specimens  of  our  old,  fast- 


10  THE  QUIRT 

vanishing  type  of  range  men."  Senator  War- 
field  himself  represented  the  modern  type  of 
range  man  and  was  proud  of  his  progressiveness. 
Never  a  scheme  for  the  country's  development 
was  hatched  but  you  would  find  Senator  Warfield 
closely  allied  with  it,  his  voice  the  deciding  one 
when  policies  and  progress  were  being  discussed. 

As  to  the  Sawtooth,  forty  thousand  acres  com- 
prised their  holdings  under  patents,  deeds  and 
long-time  leases  from  the  government.  Another 
twenty  thousand  acres  they  had  access  to  through 
the  grace  of  the  owners,  and  there  was  forest- 
reserve  grazing  besides,  which  the  Sawtooth 
could  have  if  it  chose  to  pay  the  nominal  rental 
sum.  The  Quirt  ranch  was  almost  surrounded 
by  Sawtooth  land  of  one  sort  or  another,  though 
there  was  scant  grazing  in  the  early  spring  on 
the  sagebrush  wilderness  to  the  south.  This 
needed  Quirt  Creek  for  accessible  water,  and 
Quirt  Creek,  save  where  it  ran  through  cut-bank 
hills,  was  fenced  within  the  section  and  a  half 
of  the  TJ  up-and-down. 

So  there  they  were,  small  fish  making  shift  to 
live  precariously  with  other  small  fish  in  a  pool 
where  big  fish  swam  lazily.  If  one  small  fish 
now  and  then  disappeared  with  mysterious  ab- 


LITTLE  FISH  11 

ruptness,  the  other  small  fish  would  perhaps 
scurry  here  and  there  for  a  time,  but  few  would 
leave  the  pool  for  the  safe  shallows  beyond. 
This  is  a  tale  of  the  little  fishes. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

THE  ENCHANTMENT  OF  LONG  DISTANCE 

LORRAINE  HUNTER  always  maintained 
that  she  was  a  Western  girl.  If  she  reached 
the  point  of  furnishing  details  she  would  tell  you 
that  she  had  ridden  horses  from  the  time  that  she 
could  walk,  and  that  her  father  was  a  cattle-king 
of  Idaho,  whose  cattle  fed  upon  a  thousand  hills. 
When  she  was  twelve  she  told  her  playmates 
exciting  tales  about  rattlesnakes.  When  she  was 
fifteen  she  sat  breathless  in  the  movies  and 
watched  picturesque  horsemen  careering  up  and 
down  and  around  the  thousand  hills,  and  believed 
in  her  heart  that  half  the  Western  pictures  were 
taken  on  or  near  her  father's  ranch.  She  seemed 
to  remember  certain  landmarks,  and  would  point 
them  out  to  her  companions  and  whisper  a  des- 
ultory lecture  on  the  cattle  industry  as  illus- 
trated by  the  picture.  She  was  much  inclined  to 
criticism  of  the  costuming  and  the  acting. 

At  eighteen  she  knew  definitely  that  she  hated 
the  very  name  Casa  Grande.  She  hated  the 
narrow,  half-lighted  hallway  with  its  "tree" 


AT  LONG  DISTANCE  13 

where  no  one  ever  hung  a  hat,  and  the  seat  be- 
neath where  no  one  ever  sat  down.  She  hated 
the  row  of  key-and-mail  boxes  on  the  wall,  with 
the  bell  buttons  above  each  apartment  number. 
She  hated  the  jangling  of  the  hall  telephone,  the 
scurrying  to  answer,  the  prodding  of  whichever 
bell  button  would  summon  the  tenant  asked  for 
by  the  caller.  She  hated  the  meek  little  Filipino 
boy  who  swept  that  ugly  hall  every  morning. 
She  hated  the  scrubby  palms  in  front.  She  hated 
the  pillars  where  the  paint  was  peeling  badly. 
She  hated  the  conflicting  odors  that  seeped  into 
the  atmosphere  at  certain  hours  of  the  day.  She 
hated  the  three  old  maids  on  the  third  floor  and 
the  frowsy  woman  on  the  first,  who  sat  on  the 
front  steps  in  her  soiled  breakfast  cap  and  bunga- 
low apron.  She  hated  the  nervous  tenant  who 
occupied  the  apartment  just  over  her  mother's 
three-room-and-bath,  and  pounded  with  a  broom 
handle  on  the  floor  when  Lorraine  practised 
overtime  on  chromatic  scales. 

At  eighteen  Lorraine  managed  somehow  to  ob- 
tain work  in  a  Western  picture,  and  being  un- 
usually pretty  she  so  far  distinguished  herself 
that  she  was  given  a  small  part  in  the  next  pro- 
duction. Her  glorious  duty  it  was  to  ride  madly 


14  THE  QUIRT 

through  the  little  cow-town  "  set "  to  the  post- 
office  where  the  sheriff's  posse  lounged  con- 
spicuously, and  there  pull  her  horse  to  an  abrupt 
stand  and  point  excitedly  to  the  distant  hills. 
Also  she  danced  quite  close  to  the  camera  in  the 
"  Typical  Cowboy  Dance  "  which  was  a  feature 
of  this  particular  production. 

Lorraine  thereby  earned  enough  money  to  buy 
her  fall  suit  and  coat  and  cheap  furs,  and  learned 
to  ride  a  horse  at  a  gallop  and  to  dance  what 
pas*ed  in  pictures  as  a  "  square  dance." 

At  nineteen  years  of  age  Lorraine  Hunter, 
daughter  of  old  Brit  Hunter  of  the  TJ  up-and- 
down,  became  a  real  "  range-bred  girl "  with  a 
real  Stetson  hat  of  her  own,  a  green  corduroy 
riding  skirt,  gray  flannel  shirt,  brilliant  necker- 
chief, boots  and  spurs.  A  third  picture  gave  her 
further  practice  in  riding  a  real  horse, — albeit 
an  extremely  docile  animal  called  Mouse  with 
good  reason.  She  became  known  on  the  lot  as  a 
real  cattle-king's  daughter,  though  she  did  not 
know  the  name  of  her  father's  brand  and  in  all 
her  life  had  seen  no  herd  larger  than  the  thirty 
head  of  tame  cattle  which  were  chased  past  the 
camera  again  and  again  to  make  them  look  like 
ten  thousand,  and  which  were  so  thoroughly 


AT  LONG  DISTANCE  15 

"  camera  broke  "  that  they  stopped  when  they 
were  out  of  the  scene,  turned  and  were  ready  to 
repeat  the  performance  ad  lib. 

Had  she  lived  her  life  on  the  Quirt  ranch  she 
would  have  known  a  great  deal  more  about  horse- 
back riding  and  cattle  and  range  dances.  She 
would  have  known  a  great  deal  less  about  the 
romance  of  the  West,  however,  and  she  would 
probably  never  have  seen  a  sheriff's  posse  riding 
twenty  strong  and  bunched  like  bird-shot  when 
it  leaves  the  muzzle  of  the  gun.  Indeed,  I  am 
very  sure  she  would  not.  Killings  such  as  her 
father  heard  of  with  his  lips  drawn  tight  and  the 
cords  standing  out  on  the  sides  of  his  skinny  neck 
she  would  have  considered  the  grim  tragedies 
they  were,  without  once  thinking  of  the  "  picture 
value  "  of  the  crime. 

As  it  was,  her  West  was  filled  with  men  who 
died  suddenly  in  gobs  of  red  paint  and  girls  who 
rode  loose-haired  and  panting  with  hand  held 
over  the  heart,  hurrying  for  doctors,  and  cowboys 
and  parsons  and  such.  She  had  seen  many  a 
man  whip  pistol  from  holster  and  dare  a  mob 
with  lips  drawn  back  in  a  wolfish  grin  over  his 
white,  even  teeth,  and  kidnappings  were  the  in- 
evitable accompaniment  of  youth  and  beauty. 


16  THE  QUIRT 

Lorraine  learned  rapidly.  In  three  years  she 
thrilled  to  more  blood-curdling  adventure  than 
all  the  Bad  Men  in  all  the  West  could  have  fur- 
nished had  they  lived  to  be  old  and  worked  hard 
at  being  bad  all  their  lives.  For  in  that  third 
year  she  worked  her  way  enthusiastically  through 
a  sixteen-episode  movie  serial  called  "  The  Terror 
of  the  Range."  She  was  past  mistress  of  romance 
by  that  time.  She  knew  her  West. 

It  was  just  after  the  "  Terror  of  the  Eange  " 
was  finished  that  a  great  revulsion  in  the  man- 
agement of  this  particular  company  stopped  pro- 
duction with  a  stunning  completeness  that  left 
actors  and  actresses  feeling  very  much  as  if  the 
studio  roof  had  fallen  upon  them.  Lorraine's 
West  vanished.  The  little  cow-town  "  set  "  was 
being  torn  down  to  make  room  for  something  else 
quite  different.  The  cowboys  appeared  in  tai- 
lored suits  and  drifted  away.  Lorraine  went 
home  to  the  Casa  Grande,  hating  it  more  than 
ever  she  had  hated  it  in  her  life. 

Some  one  up-stairs  was  frying  liver  and  onions, 
which  was  in  flagrant  defiance  of  Rule  Four 
which  mentioned  cabbage,  onions  and  fried  fish 
as  undesirable  foodstuffs.  Outside,  the  palm 
leaves  were  dripping  in  the  night  fog  that  had 


AT  LONG  DISTANCE  17 

swept  soggily  in  from  the  ocean.  Her  mother 
was  trying  to  collect  a  gas  bill  from  the  dress- 
maker down  the  hall,  who  protested  shrilly  that 
she  distinctly  remembered  having  paid  that  gas 
bill  once  and  had  no  intention  of  paying  it  twice. 

Lorraine  opened  the  door  marked  LANDLADY, 
and  closed  it  with  a  slam  intended  to  remind  her 
mother  that  bickerings  in  the  hall  were  less  de- 
sirable than  the  odor  of  fried  onions.  She  had 
often  spoken  to  her  mother  about  the  vulgarity  of 
arguing  in  public  with  the  tenants,  but  her 
mother  never  seemed  to  see  things  as  Lorraine 
saw  them. 

In  the  apartment  sat  a  man  who  had  been  too 
frequent  a  visitor,  as  Lorraine  judged  him.  He 
was  an  oldish  man  with  the  lines  of  failure  in  his 
face  and  on  his  lean  form  the  sprightly  clothing 
of  youth.  He  had  been  a  reporter, — was  still,  he 
maintained.  But  Lorraine  suspected  shrewdly 
that  he  scarcely  made  a  living  for  himself,  and 
that  he  was  home-hunting  in  more  ways  than  one 
when  he  came  to  visit  her  mother. 

The  affair  had  progressed  appreciably  in  her 
absence,  it  would  appear.  He  greeted  her  with 
a  fatherly  "Hello,  kiddie,"  and  would  have 
kissed  her  had  Lorraine  not  evaded  him  skilfully. 


18  THE  QUIRT 

Her  mother  came  in  then  and  complained  in- 
timately to  the  man,  and  declared  that  the  dress- 
maker would  have  to  pay  that  bill  or  have  her  gas 
turned  off.  He  offered  sympathy,  assistance  in 
the  turning  off  of  the  gas,  and  a  kiss  which  was 
perfectly  audible  to  Lorraine  in  the  next  room. 
The  affair  had  indeed  progressed ! 

"  L'raine,  d'you  know  you've  got  a  new  papa?  " 
her  mother  called  out  in  the  peculiar,  chirpy 
tone  she  used  when  she  was  exuberantly  happy. 
"  I  knew  you'd  be  surprised !  " 

"I  am,"  Lorraine  agreed,  pulling  aside  the 
cheap  green  portieres  and  looked  in  upon  the  two. 
Her  tone  was  unenthusiastic.  "A  superfluous 
gift  of  doubtful  value.  I  do  not  feel  the  need  of 
a  papa,  thank  you.  If  you  want  him  for  a  hus- 
band, mother,  that  is  entirely  your  own  affair. 
I  hope  you'll  be  very  happy." 

"  The  kid  don't  want  a  papa ;  husbands  are 
what  means  the  most  in  her  young  life,"  chuckled 
the  groom,  restraining  his  bride  when  she  would 
have  risen  from  his  knee. 

"  I  hope  you'll  both  be  very  happy  indeed,"  said 
Lorraine  gravely.  "Now  you  won't  mind, 
mother,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  dad's 
ranch  in  Idaho.  I  really  meant  it  for  a  vacation, 


AT  LONG  DISTANCE  19 

but  since  you  won't  be  alone,  I  may  stay  with 
dad  permanently.  I'm  leaving  to-morrow  or  the 
next  day — just  as  soon  as  I  can  pack  my  trunk 
and  get  a  Pullman  berth." 

She  did  not  wait  to  see  the  relief  in  her 
mother's  face  contradicting  the  expostulations  on 
her  lips.  She  went  out  to  the  telephone  in  the 
hall,  remembered  suddenly  that  her  business 
would  be  overheard  by  half  the  tenants,  and  de- 
cided to  use  the  public  telephone  in  a  hotel  far- 
ther down  the  street.  Her  decision  to  go  to  her 
dad  had  been  born  with  the  words  on  her  lips. 
But  it  was  a  lusty,  full-voiced  young  decision, 
and  it  was  growing  at  an  amazing  rate. 

Of  course  she  would  go  to  her  dad  in  Idaho! 
She  was  astonished  that  the  idea  had  never  be- 
fore crystallized  into  action.  Why  should  she 
feed  her  imagination  upon  a  mimic  West,  when 
the  great,  glorious  real  West  was  there?  What 
if  her  dad  had  not  written  a  word  for  more  than 
a  year?  He  must  be  alive;  they  would  surely 
have  heard  of  his  death,  for  she  and  Royal  were 
his  sole  heirs,  and  his  partner  would  have  their 
address. 

She  walked  fast  and  arrived  at  the  telephone 
booth  so  breathless  that  she  was  compelled  to 


20  THE  QUIRT 

wait  a  few  minutes  before  she  could  call  her  num- 
ber. She  inquired  about  trains  and  rates  to 
Echo,  Idaho. 

Echo,  Idaho!  While  she  waited  for  the  in- 
formation clerk  to  look  it  up  the  very  words  con- 
jured visions  of  wide  horizons  and  clean  winds 
and  high  adventure.  If  she  pictured  Echo,  Idaho, 
as  being  a  replica  of  the  "  set "  used  in  the  movie 
serial,  can  you  wonder?  If  she  saw  herself,  the 
beloved  queen  of  her  father's  cowboys,  dashing 
into  Echo,  Idaho,  on  a  crimply-maned  broncho 
that  pirouetted  gaily  before  the  post-office  while 
handsome  young  men  in  chaps  and  spurs  and 
"  big  four  "  Stetsons  watched  her  yearningly,  she 
was  merely  living  mentally  the  only  West  that 
she  knew. 

From  that  beatific  vision  Lorraine  floated  into 
others  more  entrancing.  All  the  hairbreadth 
escapes  of  the  heroine  of  the  movie  serial  were 
hers,  adapted  by  her  native  logic  to  fit  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility, — though  I  must  admit  they 
bulged  here  and  there  and  threatened  to  overlap 
and  to  encroach  upon  the  impossible.  Over  the 
hills  where  her  father's  vast  herds  grazed,  sleek 
and  wild  and  long-horned  and  prone  to  stampede, 
galloped  the  Lorraine  of  Lorraine's  dreams,  on 


AT  LONG  DISTANCE  21 

horses  sure-footed  and  swift.  With  her  gal- 
loped strong  men  whose  faces  limned  the  features 
of  her  favorite  Western  "  lead." 

That  for  all  her  three  years  of  intermittent 
intimacy  with  a  disillusioning  world  of  mimicry, 
her  dreams  were  pure  romance,  proved  that  Lor- 
raine had  still  the  unclouded  innocence  of  her 
girlhood  unspoiled. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

REALITY  IS  WEIGHED  AND  FOUND  WANTING 

STILL  dreaming  her  dreams,  still  featuring 
herself  as  the  star  of  many  adventures,  Lor- 
raine followed  the  brakeman  out  of  the  dusty  day 
coach  and  down  the  car  steps  to  the  platform  of 
the  place  called  Echo,  Idaho.  I  can  only  guess 
at  what  she  expected  to  find  there  in  the  person 
of  a  cattle-king  father,  but  whatever  it  was  she 
did  not  find  it.  No  father,  of  any  type  whatever, 
came  forward  to  claim  her.  In  spite  of  her 
"  Western  "  experience  she  looked  about  her  for 
a  taxi,  or  at  least  a  street  car.  Even  in  the 
wilds  of  Western  melodrama  one  could  hear 
the  clang  of  street-car  gongs  warning  careless 
autoists  off  the  track. 

After  the  train  had  hooted  and  gone  on  arour.d 
an  absolutely  uninteresting  low  hill  of  yellow 
barrenness  dotted  with  stunted  sage,  it  was  the 
silence  that  first  impressed  Lorraine  disagree- 
ably. Echo,  Idaho,  was  a  very  poor  imitation 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         23 

of  all  the  Western  sets  she  had  ever  seen.  True, 
it  had  the  straggling  row  of  square-fronted,  one- 
story  buildings,  with  hitch  rails,  but  the  signs 
painted  across  the  fronts  were  absolutely  com- 
mon. Any  director  she  had  ever  obeyed  would 
have  sent  for  his  assistant  director  and  would 
have  used  language  which  a  lady  must  not  listen 
to.  Behind  the  store  and  the  post-office  and  the 
blacksmith  shop,  on  the  brow  of  the  low  hill 
around  whose  point  the  train  had  disappeared, 
were  houses  with  bay  windows  and  porches  abso- 
lutely out  of  keeping  with  the  West.  So  far  as 
Lorraine  could  see,  there  was  not  a  log  cabin  in 
the  whole  place. 

The  hitch  rails  were  empty,  and  there  was  not 
a  cowboy  in  sight.  Before  the  post-office  a  ter- 
ribly grimy  touring  car  stood  with  its  running- 
boards  loaded  with  canvas-covered  suitcases. 
Three  goggled,  sunburned  women  in  ugly  khaki 
suits  were  disconsolately  drinking  soda  water 
from  bottles  without  straws,  and  a  goggled,  red- 
faced,  angry-looking  man  was  jerking  im- 
patiently at  the  hood  of  the  machine.  Lorraine 
and  her  suitcase  apparently  excited  no  interest 
whatever  in  Echo,  Idaho. 

The  station  agent  was  carrying  two  boxes  of 


24  THE  QUIRT 

oranges  and  a  crate  of  California  cabbages  in 
out  of  the  sun,  and  a  limp  individual  in  blue 
gingham  shirt  and  dirty  overalls  had  shouldered 
the  mail  sack  and  was  making  his  way  across 
the  dusty,  rut-scored  street  to  the  post-office. 

Two  questions  and  two  brief  answers  con- 
vinced her  that  the  station  agent  did  not  know 
Britton  Hunter, — which  was  strange,  unless  this 
happened  to  be  a  very  new  agent.  Lorraine  left 
him  to  his  cabbages  and  followed  the  man  with 
the  mail  sack. 

At  the  post-office  the  anemic  clerk  came  for- 
ward, eyeing  her  with  admiring  curiosity.  Lor- 
raine had  seen  anemic  young  men  all  her  life,  and 
the  last  three  years  had  made  her  perfectly 
familiar  with  that  look  in  a  young  man's  eyes. 
She  met  it  with  impatient  disfavor  founded 
chiefly  upon  the  young  man's  need  of  a  decent 
hair-cut,  a  less  flowery  tie  and  a  tailored  suit. 
When  he  confessed  that  he  did  not  know  Mr. 
Britton  Hunter  by  sight  he  ceased  to  exist  so  far 
as  Lorraine  was  concerned.  She  decided  that  he 
also  was  new  to  the  place  and  therefore  perfectly 
useless  to  her. 

The  postmaster  himself — Lorraine  was  cheered 
by  his  spectacles,  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  his  chin 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         25 

whiskers,  which,  made  him  look  the  part — was 
better  informed.  He,  too,  eyed  her  curiously 
when  she  said  "  My  father,  Mr.  Britton  Hunter," 
but  he  made  no  comment  on  the  relationship. 
He  gave  her  a  telegram  and  a  letter  from  the 
General  Delivery.  The  telegram,  she  suspected, 
was  the  one  she  had  sent  to  her  dad  announcing 
the  date  of  her  arrival.  The  postmaster  advised 
her  to  get  a  "  livery  rig  "  and  drive  out  to  the 
ranch,  since  it  might  be  a  week  or  two  before  any 
one  came  in  from  the  Quirt.  Lorraine  thanked 
him  graciously  and  departed  for  the  livery 
stable. 

The  man  in  charge  there  chewed  tobacco 
meditatively  and  told  her  that  his  teams  were  all 
out.  If  she  was  a  mind  to  wait  over  a  day  or 
two,  he  said,  he  might  maybe  be  able  to  make  the 
trip.  Lorraine  took  a  long  look  at  the  structure 
which  he  indicated  as  the  hotel. 

"  I  think  I'll  walk,"  she  said  calmly. 

"Walkt"  The  stableman  stopped  chewing 
and  stared  at  her.  "  It's  some  consider'ble  of  a 
walk.  It's  all  of  eighteen  mile — I  dunno  but 
twenty,  time  y'get  to  the  house." 

"  I  have  frequently  walked  twenty-five  or 
thirty  miles.  I  am  a  member  of  the  Sierra  Club 


26  THE  QUIRT 

in  Los  Angeles.  We  seldom  take  hikes  of  less 
than  twenty  miles.  If  you  will  kindly  tell  me 
which  road  I  must  take " 

"  There  she  is,"  the  man  stated  flatly,  and 
pointed  across  the  railroad  track  to  where  a 
sandy  road  drew  a  yellowish  line  through  the 
sage,  evidently  making  for  the  hills  showing 
hazily  violet  in  the  distance.  Those  hills  formed 
the  only  break  in  the  monotonous  gray  landscape, 
and  Lorraine  was  glad  that  her  journey  would 
take  her  close  to  them. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said  coldly  and  re- 
turned to  the  station.  In  the  small  lavatory  of 
the  depot  waiting  room  she  exchanged  her 
slippers  for  a  pair  of  moderately  low-heeled  shoes 
which  she  had  at  the  last  minute  of  packing 
tucked  into  her  suitcase,  put  a  few  extra  articles 
into  her  rather  smart  traveling  bag,  left  the  suit- 
case in  the  telegraph  office  and  started.  Not  an- 
other question  would  she  ask  of  Echo,  Idaho, 
which  was  flatter  and  more  insipid  than  the 
drinking  water  in  the  tin  "  cooler  "  in  the  wait- 
ing room.  The  station  agent  stood  with  his 
hands  on  his  hips  and  watched  her  cross  the  track 
and  start  down  the  road,  pardonably  astonished 
to  see  a  young  woman  walk  down  a  road  that  led 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         27 

only  to  the  hills  twenty  miles  away,  carrying  her 
luggage  exactly  as  if  her  trip  was  a  matter  of  a 
block  or  two  at  most. 

The  bag  was  rather  heavy  and  as  she  went  on 
it  became  heavier.  She  meant  to  carry  it  slung 
across  her  shoulder  on  a  stick  as  soon  as  she  was 
well  away  from  the  prying  eyes  of  Echo's  in- 
habitants. Later,  if  she  felt  tired,  she  could 
easily  hide  it  behind  a  bush  along  the  road  and 
send  one  of  her  father's  cowboys  after  it.  The 
road  was  very  dusty  and  carried  the  wind-blown 
traces  of  automobile  tires.  Some  one  would 
surely  overtake  her  and  give  her  a  ride  before 
she  walked  very  far. 

For  the  first  half  hour  she  believed  that  she 
was  walking  on  level  ground,  but  when  she 
looked  back  there  was  no  sign  of  any  town  be- 
hind her.  Echo  had  disappeared  as  completely 
as  if  it  had  been  swallowed.  Even  the  unseemly 
bay-windowed  houses  on  the  hill  had  gone  under. 
She  walked  for  another  half  hour  and  saw  only 
the  gray  sage  stretching  all  around  her.  The 
hills  looked  farther  away  than  when  she  started. 
Still,  that  beaten  road  must  lead  somewhere. 
Two  hours  later  she  began  to  wonder  why  this 
particular  road  should  be  so  unending  and  so 


28  THE  QUIRT 

empty.  Never  in  her  life  before  had  she  walked 
for  two  hours  without  seeming  to  get  anywhere, 
or  without  seeing  any  living  human. 

Both  shoulders  were  sore  from  the  weight  of 
the  bag  on  the  stick,  but  the  sagebushes  looked 
so  exactly  alike  that  she  feared  she  could  not 
describe  the  particular  spot  where  the  cowboys 
would  find  her  bag,  wherefore  she  carried  it  still. 
She  was  beginning  to  change  hands  very  often 
when  the  wind  came. 

Just  where  or  how  that  wing  sprang  up  she 
did  not  know.  Suddenly  it  was  whooping  across 
the  sage  and  flinging  up  clouds  of  dust  from  the 
road.  To  Lorraine,  softened  by  years  of  southern 
California  weather,  it  seemed  to  blow  straight 
off  an  ice  field,  it  was  so  cold. 

After  an  interminable  time  which  measured 
three  hours  on  her  watch,  she  came  to  an  abrupt 
descent  into  a  creek  bed,  down  the  middle  of 
which  the  creek  itself  was  flowing  swiftly.  Here 
the  road  forked,  a  rough,  little-used  trail  keeping 
on  up  the  creek,  the  better  traveled  road  crossing 
and  climbing  the  farther  bank.  Lorraine  scarcely 
hesitated  before  she  chose  the  main  trail  which 
crossed  the  creek. 

From  the  creek  the  trail  she  followed  kept 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         29 

climbing  until  Lorraine  wondered  if  there  would 
ever  be  a  top.  The  wind  whipped  her  narrow 
skirts  and  impeded  her,  tugged  at  her  hat,  tingled 
her  nose  and  watered  her  eyes.  But  she  kept  on 
doggedly,  disgustedly,  the  West,  which  she  had 
seen  through  the  glamour  of  swift-blooded 
Romance,  sinking  lower  and  lower  in  her  estima- 
tion. Nothing  but  jack  rabbits  and  little,  twit- 
tery  birds  moved  through  the  sage,  though  she 
watched  hungrily  for  horsemen. 

Quite  suddenly  the  gray  landscape  glowed  with 
a  palpitating  radiance,  unreal,  beautiful  beyond 
expression.  She  stopped,  turned  to  face  the  west 
and  stared  awestruck  at  one  of  those  flaming 
sunsets  which  makes  the  desert  land  seem  but 
a  gateway  into  the  ineffable  glory  beyond  the 
earth.  That  the  high-piled,  gorgeous  cloud- 
bank  presaged  a  thunderstorm  she  never  guessed ; 
and  that  a  thunderstorm  may  be  a  deadly,  terrify- 
ing peril  she  never  had  quite  believed.  Her 
mother  had  told  of  people  being  struck  by  light- 
ning, but  Lorraine  could  not  associate  lightning 
with  death,  especially  in  the  West,  where  men 
usually  died  by  shooting,  lynching,  or  by  pitch- 
ing over  a  cliff. 

The   wind   hushed   as    suddenly   as   it   had 


30  THE  QUIRT 

whooped.  Warned  by  the  twinkling  lights  far 
behind  her — lights  which  must  be  the  small  part 
at  last  visible  of  Echo,  Idaho — Lorraine  went  on. 
She  had  been  walking  steadily  for  four  hours, 
and  she  must  surely  have  come  nearly  twenty 
miles.  If  she  ever  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
she  believed  that  she  would  see  her  father's  ranch 
just  beyond. 

The  afterglow  had  deepened  to  dusk  when  she 
came  at  last  to  the  highest  point  of  that  long 
grade.  Far  ahead  loomed  a  cluster  of  square, 
black  objects  which  must  be  the  ranch  buildings 
of  the  Quirt,  and  Lorraine's  spirits  lightened  a 
little.  What  a  surprise  her  father  and  all  his 
cowboys  would  have  when  she  walked  in  upon 
them !  It  was  almost  worth  the  walk,  she  told 
herself  hearteningly.  She  hoped  that  dad  had  a 
good  cook.  He  would  wear  a  flour-sack  apron, 
naturally,  and  would  be  tall  and  lean,  or  else 
very  fat.  He  would  be  a  comedy  character,  but 
she  hoped  he  would  not  be  the  grouchy  kind, 
which,  though  very  funny  when  he  rampages 
around  on  the  screen,  might  be  rather  uncom- 
fortable to  meet  when  one  is  tired  and  hungry 
and  out  of  sorts.  But  of  course  the  crankiest  of 
comedy  cooks  would  be  decently  civil  to  her. 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         31 

Men  always  were,  except  directors  who  are  paid 
for  their  incivility. 

A  hollow  into  which  she  walked  in  complete 
darkness  and  in  silence,  save  the  gurgling  of  an- 
other stream,  hid  from  sight  the  shadowy  sem- 
blance of  houses  and  barns  and  sheds.  Their 
disappearance  slumped  her  spirits  again,  for 
without  them  she  was  no  more  than  a  solitary 
speck  in  the  vast  loneliness.  Their  actual  near- 
ness could  not  comfort  her.  She  was  seized  with 
a  reasonless,  panicky  fear  that  by  the  time  she 
crossed  the  stream  and  climbed  the  hill  beyond 
they  would  no  longer  be  there  where  she  had  seen 
them.  She  was  lifting  her  skirts  to  wade  the 
creek  when  the  click  of  hoofs  striking  against 
rocks  sent  her  scurrying  to  cover  in  a  senseless 
fear. 

"  I  learned  this  act  from  the  jack  rabbits,"  she 
rallied  herself  shakily,  when  she  was  safely 
hidden  behind  a  sagebush  whose  pungency  made 
her  horribly  afraid  that  she  might  sneeze,  which 
would  be  too  ridiculous. 

"  Some  of  dad's  cowboys,  probably,  but  still 
they  may  be  bandits." 

If  they  were  bandits  they  could  scarcely  be  out 
banditting,  for  the  two  horsemen  were  talking  in 


32  THE  QUIRT 

ordinary,  conversational  tones  as  they  rode  lei- 
surely down  to  the  ford.  When  they  passed  Lor- 
raine, the  horse  nearest  her  shied  against  the 
other  and  was  sworn  at  parenthetically  for  a 
fool.  Against  the  skyline  Lorraine  saw  the 
rider's  form  bulk  squatty  and  ungraceful,  re- 
minding her  of  an  actor  whom  she  knew  and  did 
not  like.  It  was  that  resemblance  perhaps 
which  held  her  quiet  instead  of  following  her 
first  impulse  to  speak  to  them  and  ask  them  to 
carry  her  grip  to  the  house. 

The  horses  stopped  with  their  forefeet  in  the 
water  and  drooped  heads  to  drink  thirstily. 
The  riders  continued  their  conversation. 

" — and  as  I  says  time  and  again,  they 
ain't  big  enough  to  fight  the  outfit,  and  the 
quicker  they  git  out  the  less  lead  they'll  carry 
under  their  hides  when  they  do  go.  What  they 
want  to  try  an'  hang  on  for,  beats  me.  Why,  it's 
like  setting  into  a  poker  game  with  a  five-cent 
piece !  They  ain't  got  my  sympathy.  I  ain't  got 
any  use  for  a  damn  fool,  no  way  yuh  look  at  it." 

"  Well,  there's  the  TJ — they  been  here  a  long 
while,  and  they  ain't  packin'  any  lead,  and  they 
ain't  getting  out." 

"Well,     say,     lemme    tell     yuh    something. 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         33 

The  TJ'll  git  theirs  and  git  it  right.  Drink  all 
night,  would  yuh?  "  He  swore  long  and  fluently 
at  his  horse,  spurred  him  through  the  shallows, 
and  the  two  rode  on  up  the  hill,  their  voices  still 
mingled  in  desultory  argument,  with  now  and 
then  an  oath  rising  clearly  above  the  jumble  of 
words. 

They  may  have  been  law-abiding  citizens  rid- 
ing home  to  families  that  were  waiting  supper 
for  them,  but  Lorraine  crept  out  from  behind  her 
sagebush,  sneezing  and  thanking  her  imitation 
of  the  jack  rabbits.  Whoever  they  were,  she  was 
not  sorry  she  had  let  them  ride  on.  They  might 
be  her  father's  men,  and  they  might  have  been 
very  polite  and  chivalrous  to  her.  But  their 
voices  and  their  manner  of  speaking  had  been 
rough ;  and  it  is  one  thing,  Lorraine  reflected,  to 
mingle  with  made-up  villains — even  to  be  way- 
laid and  kidnapped  and  tied  to  trees  and  threat- 
ened with  death — but  it  is  quite  different  to 
accost  rough-speaking  men  in  the  dark  when  you 
know  that  they  are  not  being  rough  to  suit  the 
director  of  the  scene. 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  trying  to  construct  a 
range  war  or  something  equally  thrilling  from 
the  scrap  of  conversation  she  had  heard  that  she 


34  THE  QUIRT 

reached  the  hilltop  in  what  seemed  a  very  few 
minutes  of  climbing.  The  sky  was  becoming 
overcast.  Already  the  stars  to  the  west  were 
blotted  out,  and  the  absolute  stillness  of  the 
atmosphere  frightened  her  more  than  the  big, 
dark  wilderness  itself.  It  seemed  to  her  exactly 
as  though  the  earth  was  holding  its  breath  and 
waiting  for  something  terrible  to  happen.  The 
vague  bulk  of  buildings  was  still  some  distance 
ahead,  and  when  a  rumble  like  the  deepest  notes 
of  a  pipe  organ  began  to  fill  all  the  air,  Lorraine 
thrust  her  grip  under  a  bush  and  began  to  run, 
her  soggy  shoes  squashing  unpleasantly  on  the 
rough  places  in  the  road. 

Lorraine  had  seen  many  stage  storms  and  had 
thrilled  ecstatically  to  the  mimic  lightning, 
knowing  just  how  it  was  made.  But  when  that 
huge  blackness  behind  and  to  the  left  of  her  be- 
gan to  open  and  show  a  terrible  brilliance  within, 
and  to  close  abruptly,  leaving  the  world  ink 
black,  she  was  terrified.  She  wanted  to  hide  as 
she  had  hidden  from  those  two  men;  but  from 
that  stupendous  monster,  a  real  thunderstorm, 
sagebrush  formed  no  protection  whatever.  She 
must  reach  the  substantial  shelter  of  buildings, 
the  comforting  presence  of  men  and  women. 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         35 

She  ran,  and  as  she  ran  she  wept  aloud  like  a 
child  and  called  for  her  father.  The  deep  rumble 
grew  louder,  nearer.  The  revealed  brilliance  be- 
came swift  sword-thrusts  of  blinding  light  that 
seemed  to  stab  deep  the  earth.  Lorraine  ran 
awkwardly,  her  hands  over  her  ears,  crying  out 
at  each  lightning  flash,  her  voice  drowned  in  the 
thunder  that  followed  it  close.  Then,  as  she 
neared  the  somber  group  of  buildings,  the  clouds 
above  them  split  with  a  terrific,  rending  crash, 
and  the  whole  place  stood  pitilessly  revealed  to 
her,  as  if  a  spotlight  had  been  turned  on.  Lor- 
raine stood  aghast.  The  buildings  were  not 
buildings  at  all.  They  were  rocks,  great,  black, 
forbidding  boulders  standing  there  on  a  narrow 
ridge,  having  a  diabolic  likeness  to  houses. 

The  human  mind  is  wonderfully  resilient,  but 
readjustment  comes  slowly  after  a  shock. 
Dumbly,  refusing  to  admit  the  significance  of 
what  she  had  seen,  Lorraine  went  forward.  Not 
until  she  had  reached  and  had  touched  the  first 
grotesque  caricature  of  habitation  did  she  wholly 
grasp  the  fact  that  she  was  lost,  and  that  shelter 
might  be  miles  away.  She  stood  and  looked  at 
the  orderly  group  of  boulders  as  the  lightning  in- 
termittently revealed  them.  She  saw  where  the 


36  THE  QUIRT 

road  ran  on,  between  two  square-faced  rocks. 
She  would  have  to  follow  the  road,  for  after  all 
it  must  lead  somewhere, — to  her  father's  ranch, 
probably.  She  wondered  irrelevantly  why  her 
mother  had  never  mentioned  these  queer  rocks, 
and  she  wondered  vaguely  if  any  of  them  had 
caves  or  ledges  where  she  could  be  safe  from  the 
lightning. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  out  into  the 
road  again  when  a  horseman  rode  into  sight  be- 
tween the  two  rocks.  In  the  same  instant  of  his 
appearance  she  heard  the  unmistakable  crack  of 
a  gun,  saw  the  rider  jerk  backward  in  the  saddle, 
throw  up  one  hand, — and  then  the  darkness 
dropped  between  them. 

Lorraine  crouched  behind  a  juniper  bush  close 
against  the  rock  and  waited.  The  next  flash 
came  within  a  half-minute.  It  showed  a  man  at 
the  horse's  head,  holding  it  by  the  bridle.  The 
horse  was  rearing.  Lorraine  tried  to  scream 
that  the  man  on  the  ground  would  be  trampled, 
but  something  went  wrong  with  her  voice,  so 
that  she  could  only  whisper. 

When  the  light  came  again  the  man  who  had 
been  shot  was  not  altogether  on  the  ground. 
The  other,  working  swiftly,  had  thrust  the  in- 


REALITY  IS  WEIGHED         37 

jured  man's  foot  through  the  stirrup.  Lorraine 
saw  him  stand  back  and  lift  his  quirt  to  slash  the 
horse  across  the  rump.  Even  through  the  crash 
of  thunder  Lorraine  heard  the  horse  go  past  her 
down  the  hill,  galloping  furiously.  When  she 
could  see  again  she  glimpsed  him  running,  while 
something  bounced  along  on  the  ground  beside 
him. 

She  saw  the  other  man,  with  a  dry  branch  in 
his  hand,  dragging  it  across  the  road  where  it 
ran  between  the  two  rocks.  Then  Lorraine 
Hunter,  hardened  to  the  sight  of  crimes  com- 
mitted for  picture  values  only,  realized  sicken- 
ingly  that  she  had  just  looked  upon  a  real  mur- 
der,— the  cold-blooded  killing  of  a  man.  She  felt 
very  sick.  Queer  little  red  sparks  squirmed  and 
danced  before  her  eyes.  She  crumpled  down 
quietly  behind  the  juniper  bush  and  did  not 
know  when  the  rain  came,  though  it  drenched  her 
in  the  first  two  or  three  minutes  of  downpour. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  WHEN  SHE  AIN'T  CRAZY  " 

WHEN  the  sun  lias  been  up  just  long  enough 
to  take  the  before-dawn  chill  from  the  air 
without  having  swallowed  all  the  diamonds  that 
spangle  bush  and  twig  and  grass-blade  after  a 
night's  soaking  rain,  it  is  good  to  ride  over  the 
hills  of  Idaho  and  feel  oneself  a  king, — and  never 
mind  the  crown  and  the  scepter.  Lone  Morgan, 
riding  early  to  the  Sawtooth  to  see  the  foreman 
about  getting  a  man  for  a  few  days  to  help  re- 
place a  bridge  carried  fifty  yards  downstream  by 
a  local  cloudburst,  would  not  have  changed 
places  with  a  millionaire.  The  horse  he  rode  was 
the  horse  he  loved,  the  horse  he  talked  to  like  a 
pal  when  they  were  by  themselves.  The  ridge 
gave  him  a  wide  outlook  to  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth.  Far  to  the  north  the  Sawtooth  range 
showed  blue,  the  nearer  mountains  pansy  purple 
where  the  pine  trees  stood,  the  foothills  shaded 
delicately  where  canyons  swept  down  to  the  gray 
plain.  To  the  south  was  the  sagebrush,  a  soft, 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         39 

gray-green  carpet  under  the  sun.  The  sky  was 
blue,  the  clouds  were  handfuls  of  clean  cotton 
floating  lazily.  Of  the  night's  storm  remained 
no  trace  save  slippery  mud  when  his  horse  struck 
a  patch  of  clay,  wfcich  was  not  often,  and  the 
packed  sand  still  wet  and  soggy  from  the  beat- 
ing rain. 

Rock  City  showed  black  and  inhospitable  even 
in  the  sunlight.  The  rock  walls  rose  sheer,  the 
roofs  slanted  rakishly,  the  signs  scratched  on  the 
rock  by  facetious  riders  were  pointless  and  in- 
ane. Lone  picked  his  way  through  the  crooked 
defile  that  was  marked  MAIN  STREET  on  the  cor- 
ner of  the  first  huge  boulder  and  came  abruptly 
into  the  road.  Here  he  turned  north  and  shook 
his  horse  into  a  trot. 

A  hundred  yards  or  so  down  the  slope  beyond 
Rock  City  he  pulled  up  short  with  a  "  What  the 
hell ! "  that  did  not  sound  profane,  but  merely 
amazed.  In  the  sodden  road  were  the  unmistak- 
able footprints  of  a  woman.  Lone  did  not  hesi- 
tate in  naming  the  sex,  for  the  wet  sand  held  the 
imprint  cleanly,  daintily.  Too  shapely  for  a  boy, 
too  small  for  any  one  but  a  child  or  a  woman 
with  little  feet,  and  with  the  point  at  the  toes 
proclaiming  the  fashion  of  the  towns,  Lone 


40  THE  QUIRT 

guessed  at  once  that  she  was  a  town  girl,  a 
stranger,  probably, — and  that  she  had  passed 
since  the  rain ;  which  meant  since  daylight. 

He  swung  his  horse  and  rode  back,  wondering 
where  she  could  have  spent  the  night.  Halfway 
through  Bock  City  the  footprints  ended  abruptly, 
and  Lone  turned  back,  riding  down  the  trail  at  a 
lope.  She  couldn't  have  gone  far,  he  reasoned, 
and  if  she  had  been  out  all  night  in  the  rain,  with 
no  better  shelter  than  Rock  City  afforded,  she 
would  need  help, — "and  lots  of  it,  and  pretty 
darn  quick,"  he  added  to  John  Doe,  which  was 
the  ambiguous  name  of  his  horse. 

Half  a  mile  farther  on  he  overtook  her. 
Bather,  he  sighted  her  in  the  trail,  saw  her  duck 
in  amongst  the  rocks  and  scattered  brush  of  a 
small  ravine,  and  spurred  after  her.  It  was  pre- 
carious footing  for  his  horse  when  he  left  the 
road,  but  John  Doe  was  accustomed  to  that. 
He  jumped  boulders,  shied  around  buckthorn, 
crashed  through  sagebrush  and  so  brought  the 
girl  to  bay  against  a  wet  bank,  where  she  stood 
shivering.  The  terror  in  her  face  and  her  wide 
eyes  would  have  made  her  famous  in  the  movies. 
It  made  Lone  afraid  she  was  crazy. 

Lone  swung  off  and  went  up  to  her  guardedly. 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         41 

not  knowing  just  what  an  insane  woman  might 
do  when  cornered.  "  There,  now,  I'm  not  going 
to  hurt  yuh  at  all,"  he  soothed.  "  I  guess  maybe 
you're  lost.  What  made  you  run  away  from  me 
when  you  saw  me  coming?  " 

Lorraine  continued  to  stare  at  him. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  ranch,  and  if  you'd  like  a 
ride,  I'll  lend  you  my  horse.  He'll  be  gentle  if 
I  lead  him.  It's  a  right  smart  walk  from  here." 
Lone  smiled,  meaning  to  reassure  her. 

"Are  you  the  man  I  saw  shoot  that  man  and 
then  fasten  him  to  the  stirrup  of  the  saddle  so  the 
horse  dragged  him  down  the  road?  If  you  are, 
I— I " 

"No — oh,  no,  I'm  not  the  man,"  Lone  said 
gently.  "  I  just  now  came  from  home.  Better 
let  me  take  you  in  to  the  ranch." 

"  I  was  going  to  the  ranch — did  you  see  him 
shoot  that  man  and  make  the  horse  drag  him — 
make  the  horse — he  slashed  that  horse  with  the 
quirt — and  he  went  tearing  down  the  road 
dragging — it — it  was — horrible!" 

"Yes — yes,  don't  worry  about  it.  We'll  fix 
him.  You  come  and  get  on  John  Doe  and  let 
me  take  you  to  the  ranch.  Come  on — you're  wet 
as  a  ducked  pup." 


42  THE  QUIRT 

"  That  man  was  just  riding  along — I  saw  him 
when  it  lightened.  And  he  shot  him — oh,  can't 
you  do  something?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  they're  after  him  right  now.  Here. 
Just  put  your  foot  in  the  stirrup — I'll  help  you 
up.  Why,  you're  soaked !  "  Perseveringly  Lone 
urged  her  to  the  horse.  "  You're  soaking  wet !  " 
he  exclaimed  again. 

"  It  rained,"  she  muttered  confusedly.  "  I 
thought  it  was  the  ranch — but  they  were  rocks. 
Just  rocks.  Did  you  see  him  shoot  that  man? 
Why — why  it  shouldn't  be  allowed!  He  ought 
to  be  arrested  right  away — I'd  have  called  a 
policeman  but — isn't  thunder  and  lightning  just 
perfectly  awful?  And  that  horse — going  down 
the  road  dragging 

"  You'd  better  get  some  one  to  double  for  me 
in  this  scene,"  she  said  irrelevantly.  "  I — I 
don't  know  this  horse,  and  if  he  starts  running 
the  boys  might  not  catch  him  in  time.  It  isn't 
safe,  is  it?  " 

"  It's  safe,"  said  Lone  pityingly.  "  You  won't 
be  dragged.  You  just  get  on  and  ride.  I'll  lead 
him.  John  Doe's  gentle  as  a  dog." 

"  Just  straight  riding?  "  Lorraine  considered 
the  matter  gravely.  "  Wel-11 — but  I  saw  a  man 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         43 

dragged,  once.  He'd  been  shot  first.  It — it  was 
awful!" 

"  I'll  bet  it  was.  How'd  you  conie  to  be  walk- 
ing so  far?  " 

Lorraine  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  Lone 
thought  her  eyes  were  the  most  wonderful  eyes — 
and  the  most  terrible — that  he  had  ever  seen. 
Almond-shaped  they  were,  the  irises  a  clear,  dark 
gray,  the  eyeballs  blue-white  like  a  healthy 
baby's.  That  was  the  wonder  of  them.  But 
their  glassy  shine  made  them  terrible.  Her  lids 
lifted  in  a  sudden  stare. 

"You're  not  the  man,  are  you?  I — I  think 
he  was  taller  than  you.  And  his  hat  was  brown. 
He's  a  brute — a  beast!  To  shoot  a  man  just  rid- 
ing along It  rained,"  she  added  plaintively. 

"  My  bag  is  back  there  somewhere  under  a  bush. 
I  think  I  could  find  the  bush — it  was  where  a 
rabbit  was  sitting — but  he's  probably  gone  by 
this  time.  A  rabbit,"  she  told  him  impressively, 
"wouldn't  sit  out  in  the  rain  all  night,  would 
he?  He'd  get  wet.  And  a  rabbit  would  feel 
horrid  when  he  was  wet — such  thick  fur  he  never 
would  get  dried  out.  Where  do  they  go  when  it 
rains?  They  have  holes  in  the  ground,  don't 
they?  " 


44  THE  QUIRT 

"  Yes.  Sure,  they  do.  I'll  show  you  one,  down 
the  road  here  a  little  piece.  Come  on — it  ain't 
far." 

To  see  a  rabbit  hole  in  the  ground,  Lorraine 
consented  to  mount  and  ride  while  Lone  walked 
beside  her,  agreeing  with  everything  she  said  that 
needed  agreement.  When  she  had  gone  a  few 
rods,  however,  she  began  to  call  him  Charlie  and 
to  criticize  the  direction  of  the  picture.  They 
should  not,  she  declared,  mix  murders  and  thun- 
derstorms in  the  same  scene.  While  the  storm 
effect  was  perfectly  wonderful,  she  thought  it 
rather  detracted  from  the  killing.  She  did  not 
l>elieve  in  lumping  big  stuff  together  like  that. 
Why  not  have  the  killing  done  by  moonlight,  and 
use  the  storm  when  the  murderer  was  getting 
away,  or  something  like  that?  And  as  for  tak- 
ing them  out  on  location  and  making  all  those 
«torm  scenes  without  telling  them  in  advance  so 
that  they  could  have  dry  clothes  afterwards,  she 
thought  it  a  perfect  outrage !  If  it  were  not  for 
spoiling  the  picture,  she  would  quit,  she  asserted 
indignantly.  She  thought  the  director  had  better 
go  back  to  driving  a  laundry  wagon,  which  was 
probably  where  he  came  from. 

Lone  agreed  with  her,  even  though  he  did  not 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "          45 

know  what  she  was  talking  about.  He  walked 
as  fast  as  he  could,  but  even  so  he  could  not 
travel  the  six  miles  to  the  ranch  very  quickly. 
He  could  see  that  the  girl  was  burning  up  with 
fever,  and  he  could  hear  her  voice  growing 
husky, — could  hear,  too,  the  painful  laboring  of 
her  breath.  When  she  was  not  mumbling  in- 
coherent nonsense  she  was  laughing  hoarsely  at 
the  plight  she  was  in,  and  after  that  she  would 
hold  both  hands  to  her  chest  and  moan  in  a  way 
that  made  Lone  grind  his  teeth. 

When  he  lifted  her  off  his  horse  at  the  fore- 
man's cottage  she  was  whispering  things  no  one 
could  understand.  Three  cowpunchers  came 
running  and  hindered  him  a  good  deal  in  carry- 
ing her  into  the  house,  and  the  foreman's  wife 
ran  excitedly  from  one  room  to  the  other,  asking 
questions  and  demanding  that  some  one  do  some- 
thing "  for  pity's  sake,  she  may  be  dying  for  all 
you  know,  while  you  stand  there  gawping  like 
fool-hens." 

"  She  was  out  all  night  in  the  rain — got  lost, 
somehow.  She  said  she  was  coming  here,  so  I 
brought  her  on.  She's  down  with  a  cold,  Mrs. 
Hawkins.  Better  take  off  them  wet  clothes  and 
put  hot  blankets  around  her.  And  a  poultice  or 


46  THE  QUIRT 

something  on  her  chest,  I  reckon."  Lone  turned 
to  the  door,  stopped  to  roll  a  cigarette,  and 
watched  Mrs.  Hawkins  hurrying  to  Lorraine 
with  a  whisky  toddy  the  cook  had  mixed  for  her. 

"A  sweat's  awful  good  for  a  cold  like  she's 
got,"  he  volunteered  practically.  "  She's  out  of 
her  head — or  she  was  when  I  found  her.  But  I 
reckon  that's  mostly  scare,  from  being  lost  all 
night.  Give  her  a  good  sweat,  why  don't  you?  " 
He  reached  the  doorstep  and  then  turned  back  to 
add,  "  She  left  a  grip  back  somewhere  along  the 
road.  I'll  go  hunt  it  up,  I  reckon." 

He  mounted  John  Doe  and  rode  down  to  the 
corral,  where  two  or  three  riders  were  killing 
time  on  various  pretexts  while  they  waited  for 
details  of  Lone's  adventure.  Delirious  young 
women  of  the  silk-stocking  class  did  not  arrive 
at  the  Sawtooth  every  morning,  and  it  was 
rumored  already  amongst  the  men  that  she  was 
some  looker,  which  naturally  whetted  their  in- 
terest in  her. 

"  I'll  bet  it's  one  of  Bob's  girls,  come  trailin' 
him  up.  Mebby  another  of  them  heart-ballum 
cases  of  Bob's,"  hazarded  Pop  Bridgers,  who  read 
nothing  unless  it  was  printed  on  pink  paper,  and 
who  refused  to  believe  that  any  good  could  come 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "          47 

out  of  a  city.  "Ain't  that  right,  Loney?  Hain't 
she  a  heart-ballum  girl  of  Bob's?  " 

From  the  saddle  Lone  stared  down  impassively 
at  Pop  and  Pop's  companions.  "  I  don't  know  a 
thing  about  her,"  he  stated  emphatically.  "  She 
said  she  was  coming  to  the  ranch,  and  she  was 
scared  of  the  thunder  and  lightning.  That's 
every  word  of  sense  I  could  get  outa  her.  She 
ain't  altogether  ignorant — she  knows  how  to 
climb  on  a  horse,  anyway,  and  she  kicked  about 
having  to  ride  sideways  on  account  of  her  skirts. 
She  was  plumb  out  of  her  head,  and  talked  wild, 
but  she  handled  her  reins  like  a  rider.  And  she 
never  mentioned  Bob,  nor  anybody  else  excepting 
some  fellow  she  called  Charlie.  She  thought  I 
was  him,  but  she  only  talked  to  me  friendly. 
She  didn't  pull  any  love  talk  at  all." 

"  Charlie?  "  Pop  ruminated  over  a  fresh  quid 
of  tobacco.  "  Charlie !  Mebby  Bob,  he  stakes 
himself  to  a  different  name  now  and  then.  There 
ain't  any  Charlie,  except  Charlie  Werner;  she 
wouldn't  mean  him,  do  yuh  s'pose?" 

"Charlie  Werner?  Hunh!  Say,  Pop,  she 
ain't  no  squaw — is  she,  Loney?"  Sid  Sterling 
remonstrated. 

"  If  I  can  read  brands,"  Lone  testified,  "  she's 


48  THE  QUIRT 

no  girl  of  Bob's.  She's  a  good,  honest  girl  when 
she  ain't  crazy." 

"And  no  good,  honest  girl  who  is  not  crazy 
could  possibly  be  a  girl  of  mine!  Is  that  the 
idea,  Lone?  " 

Lone  turned  unhurriedly  and  looked  at  young 
Bob  Warfield  standing  in  the  stable  door  with 
his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets  and  his  pipe  in 
his  mouth. 

"  That  ain't  the  argument.  Pop,  here,  was 
wondering  if  she  was  another  heart-ball  um  girl  of 
yours,"  Lone  grinned  unabashed.  "  I  don't  know 
such  a  hell  of  a  lot  about  heart-balm  ladies,  Bob. 
I  ain't  a  millionaire.  I'm  just  making  a  guess 
at  their  brand — and  it  ain't  the  brand  this  little 
lady  carries." 

Bob  removed  one  hand  from  his  pocket  and 
cuddled  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  "If  she's  a  woman, 
she's  a  heart-balmer  if  she  gets  the  chance.  They 
all  are,  down  deep  in  their  tricky  hearts.  There 
isn't  a  woman  on  earth  that  won't  sell  a  man's 
soul  out  of  his  body  if  she  happens  to  think  it's 
worth  her  while — and  she  can  get  away  with  it. 
But  don't  for  any  sake  call  her  my  heart-balmer." 

"  That  was  Pop,"  drawled  Lone.  "  It  don't 
strike  me  as  being  any  subject  for  you  fellows  to 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         49 

make  remarks  about,  anyway,"  he  advised  Pop 
firmly.  "  She's  a  right  nice  little  girl,  and  she's 
pretty  darn  sick."  He  touched  John  Doe  with 
the  spurs  and  rode  away,  stopping  at  the  fore- 
man's gate  to  finish  his  business  with  Hawkins. 
He  was  a  conscientious  young  man,  and  since  he 
had  charge  of  Elk  Spring  camp,  he  set  its  in- 
terests above  his  own,  which  was  more  than  some 
of  the  Sawtooth  men  would  have  done  in  his 
place. 

Having  reported  the  damage  to  the  bridge  and 
made  his  suggestions  about  the  repairs,  he 
touched  up  John  Doe  again  and  loped  away  on  a 
purely  personal  matter,  which  had  to  do  with 
finding  the  bag  which  the  girl  had  told  him  was 
under  a  bush  where  a  rabbit  had  been  sitting. 

If  she  had  not  been  so  very  sick,  Lone  would 
have  laughed  at  her  naive  method  of  identifying 
the  spot.  But  he  was  too  sorry  for  her  to  be 
amused  at  the  vagaries  of  her  sick  brain.  Ho  did 
not  believe  anything  she  had  said,  except  that  she 
had  been  coming  to  the  ranch  and  had  left  her 
bag  under  a  bush  beside  the  road.  It  should  not 
be  difficult  to  find  it,  if  he  followed  the  road  and 
watched  closely  the  bushes  on  either  side. 

Until  he  reached  the  place  where  he  had  first 


50  THE  QUIRT 

sighted  her,  Lone  rode  swiftly,  anxious  to  be 
through  with  the  business  and  go  his  way.  But 
when  he  caine  upon  her  footprints  again,  he 
pulled  up  and  held  John  Doe  to  a  walk,  scanning 
each  bush  and  boulder  as  he  passed. 

It  seemed  probable  that  she  had  left  the  grip 
at  Bock  City  where  she  must  have  spent  the 
night.  She  had  spoken  of  being  deceived  into 
thinking  the  place  was  the  Sawtooth  ranch  until 
she  had  come  into  it  and  found  it  "  just  rocks." 
Then,  he  reasoned,  the  storm  had  broken,  and  her 
fright  had  held  her  there.  When  daylight  came 
she  had  either  forgotten  the  bag  or  had  left  it 
deliberately. 

At  Bock  City,  then,  Lone  stopped  to  examine 
the  base  of  every  rock,  even  riding  around  those 
nearest  the  road.  The  girl,  he  guessed  shrewdly, 
had  not  wandered  off  the  main  highway,  else  she 
would  not  have  been  able  to  find  it  again.  Bock 
City  was  confusing  unless  one  was  perfectly 
familiar  with  its  curious,  winding  lanes. 

It  was  when  he  was  riding  slowly  around  the 
boulder  marked  "Palace  Hotel,  Bates  Beasnible," 
that  he  came  upon  the  place  where  a  horse  had 
stood,  on  the  side  best  sheltered  from  the  storm. 
Deep  hoof  marks  closely  overlapping,  an  over- 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         51 

turned  stone  here  and  there  gave  proof  enough, 
and  the  rain-beaten  soil  that  blurred  the  hoof- 
prints  farthest  from  the  rock  told  him  more. 
Lone  backed  away,  dismounted,  and,  stepping 
carefully,  went  close.  He  could  see  no  reason 
why  a  horse  should  have  stood  there  with  his 
head  toward  the  road  ten  feet  away,  unless  his 
rider  was  waiting  for  something — or  some  one. 
There  were  other  boulders  near  which  offered 
more  shelter  from  rain. 

Next  the  rock  he  discovered  a  boot  track,  evi- 
dently made  when  the  rider  dismounted.  He 
thought  of  the  wild  statement  of  the  girl  about 
seeing  some  one  shoot  a  man  and  wondered 
briefly  if  there  could  be  a  basis  of  truth  in  what 
she  said.  But  the  road  showed  no  sign  of  a 
struggle,  though  there  were,  here  and  there,  hoof- 
prints  half  washed  out  with  the  rain. 

Lone  went  back  to  his  horse  and  rode  on,  still 
looking  for  the  bag.  His  search  was  thorough 
and,  being  a  keen-eyed  young  man,  he  discovered 
the  place  where  Lorraine  had  crouched  down  by 
a  rock.  She  must  have  stayed  there  all  night, 
for  the  scuffed  soil  was  dry  where  her  body  had 
rested,  and  her  purse,  caught  in  the  juniper  bush 
close  by,  was  sodden  with  rain. 


52  THE  QUIRT 

"  The  poor  little  kid ! "  he  muttered,  and  with 
a  sudden  impulse  he  turned  and  looked  toward 
the  rock  behind  which  the  horse  had  stood.  Help 
had  been  that  close,  and  she  had  not  known  it, 
unless 

"  If  anything  happened  there  last  night,  she 
could  have  seen  it  from  here,"  he  decided,  and 
immediately  put  the  thought  away  from  him. 

"  But  nothing  happened,"  he  added,  "  unless 
maybe  she  saw  him  ride  out  and  go  on  down  the 
road.  She  was  out  of  her  head  and  just  imagined 
things." 

He  slipped  the  soaked  purse  into  his  coat 
pocket,  remounted  and  rode  on  slowly,  looking 
for  the  grip  and  half-believing  she  had  not  been 
carrying  one,  but  had  dreamed  it  just  as  she  had 
dreamed  that  a  man  had  been  shot. 

He  rode  past  the  bag  without  seeing  it,  for 
Lorraine  had  thrust  it  far  back  under  a  stocky 
bush  whose  scraggly  branches  nearly  touched  the 
ground.  So  he  came  at  last  to  the  creek,  swollen 
with  the  night's  storm  so  that  it  was  swift  and 
dangerous.  Lone  was  turning  back  when  John 
Doe  threw  up  his  head,  stared  up  the  creek  for 
a  moment  and  whinnied  shrilly.  Lone  stood  in 
the  stirrups  and  looked. 


"  SHE'S  A  GOOD  GIRL  "         5a 

A  blaze-faced  horse  was  standing  a  short  rifle- 
shot away,  bridled  and  with  an  empty  saddle. 
Whether  he  was  tied  or  not  Lone  could  not  tell 
at  that  distance,  but  he  knew  the  horse  by  its 
banged  forelock  and  its  white  face  and  sorrel 
ears,  and  he  knew  the  owner  of  the  horse.  He 
rode  toward  it  slowly. 

"  Whoa,  you  rattle-headed  fool,"  he  admon- 
ished, when  the  horse  snorted  and  backed  a  step 
or  two  as  he  approached.  He  saw  the  bridle- 
reins  dangling,  broken,  where  the  horse  had 
stepped  on  them  in  running.  "  Broke  loose  and 
run  off  again,"  he  said,  as  he  took  down  his  rope 
and  widened  the  loop.  "  I'll  bet  Thurman  would 
sell  you  for  a  bent  nickel,  this  morning." 

The  horse  squatted  and  jumped  when  he  cast 
the  loop,  and  then  stood  quivering  and  snorting 
while  Lone  dismounted  and  started  toward  him. 
Ten  steps  from  the  horse  Lone  stopped  short, 
staring.  For  down  in  the  bushes  on  the  farther 
side  half  lay,  half  hung  the  limp  form  of  a  man. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

A  DEATH  "  BY  ACCIDENT  " 

LONE  WARREN  was  a  Virginian  by  birth, 
though  few  of  his  acquaintances  knew  it. 
Lone  never  talked  of  himself  except  as  his  per- 
sonal history  touched  a  common  interest  with  his 
fellows.  But  until  he  was  seventeen  he  had  lived 
very  close  to  the  center  of  one  of  the  deadliest 
feuds  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  That  he  had  been  neu- 
tral was  merely  an  accident  of  birth,  perhaps. 
And  that  he  had  not  become  involved  in  the 
quarrel  that  raged  among  his  neighbors  was  the 
direct  result  of  a  genius  for  holding  his  tongue. 
He  had  attended  the  funerals  of  men  shot  down 
in  their  own  dooryards,  he  had  witnessed  the 
trials  of  the  killers.  He  had  grown  up  with  the 
settled  conviction  that  other  men's  quarrels  did 
not  concern  him  so  long  as  he  was  not  directly 
involved,  and  that  what  did  not  concern  him  he 
had  no  right  to  discuss.  If  he  stood  aside  and 
let  violence  stalk  by  unhindered,  he  was  merely 
doing  what  he  had  been  taught  to  do  from  the 


"  BY  ACCIDENT  '  55 

time  lie  could  walk.  "  Mind  your  own  business 
and  let  other  folks  do  the  same,"  had  been  the 
family  slogan  in  Lone's  home.  There  had  been 
nothing  in  Lone's  later  life  to  convince  him  that 
minding  his  own  business  was  not  a  very  good 
habit.  It  had  grown  to  be  second  nature, — and 
it  had  made  him  a  good  man  for  the  Sawtooth 
Cattle  Company  to  have  on  its  pay  roll. 

Just  now  Lone  was  stirred  beyond  his  usual 
depth  of  emotion,  and  it  was  not  altogether  the 
sight  of  Fred  Thurman's  battered  body  that  un- 
nerved him.  He  wanted  to  believe  that  Thur- 
man's death  was  purely  an  accident, — the  acci- 
dent it  appeared.  But  Lorraine  and  the  telltale 
hoofprints  by  the  rock  compelled  him  to  believe 
that  it  was  not  an  accident.  He  knew  that  if  he 
examined  carefully  enough  Fred  Thurman's  body 
he  would  find  the  mark  of  a  bullet.  He  was 
tempted  to  look,  and  yet  he  did  not  want  to  know. 
It  was  no  business  of  his ;  it  would  be  foolish  to 
let  it  become  his  business. 

"  He's  too  dead  to  care  now  how  it  happened — 
and  it  would  only  stir  up  trouble,"  he  finally  de- 
cided and  turned  his  eyes  away. 

He  pulled  the  twisted  foot  from  the  stirrup, 
left  the  body  where  it  lay,  and  led  the  blaze-faced 


56  THE  QUIRT 

horse  to  a  tree  and  tied  it  securely.  He  took  off 
Ms  coat  and  spread  it  over  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders of  the  dead  man,  weighted  the  edges  with 
rocks  and  rode  away. 

Halfway  up  the  hill  he  left  the  road  and  took 
a  narrow  trail  through  the  sage,  a  short-cut  that 
would  save  him  a  couple  of  miles. 

The  trail  crossed  the  ridge  half  a  mile  beyond 
Eock  City,  dipping  into  the  lower  end  of  the 
small  gulch  where  he  had  overtaken  the  girl. 
The  place  recalled  with  fresh  vividness  her  first 
words  to  him :  "Are  you  the  man  I  saw  shoot  that 
other  man  and  fasten  his  foot  in  the  stirrup?  " 
Lone  shivered  and  threw  away  the  cigarette  he 
had  just  lighted. 

"  My  Grod,  that  girl  mustn't  tell  that  to  any 
one  else !  "  he  exclaimed  apprehensively.  "  No 
matter  who  she  is  or  what  she  is,  she  mustn't 
tell  that!" 

"  Hello !  Who  you  talking  to?  I  heard  some- 
body talking "  The  bushes  parted  above  a 

low,  rocky  ledge  and  a  face  peered  out,  smiling 
good-humoredly.  Lone  started  a  little  and 
pulled  up. 

"  Oh,  hello,  Swan.  I  was  just  telling  this 
horse  of  mine  all  I  was  going  to  do  to  him.  Say, 


"  BY  ACCIDENT  '  57 

you're  a  chancey  bird,  Swan,  yelling  from  the 
brush  like  that.  Some  folks  woulda  taken  a  shot 
at  you." 

"  Then  they'd  hit  me,  sure,"  Swan  observed, 
letting  himself  down  into  the  trail.  He,  too,  was 
wet  from  his  hat  crown  to  his  shoes,  that 
squelched  when  he  landed  lightly  on  his  toes. 
"Anybody  would  be  ashamed  to  shoot  at  a  mark 
so  large  as  I  am.  I'd  say  they're  poor  shooters." 
And  he  added  irrelevantly,  as  he  held  up  a  gray- 
ish pelt,  "  I  got  that  coyote  I  been  chasing  for 
two  weeks.  He  was  sure  smart.  He  had  me 
guessing.  But  I  made  him  guess  some,  maybe. 
He  guessed  wrong  this  time." 

Lone's  eyes  narrowed  while  he  looked  Swan 
over.  "  You  must  have  been  out  all  night,"  he 
said.  "  You're  crazier  about  hunting  than  I 
am." 

"  Wet  bushes,"  Swan  corrected  carelessly.  "  I 
been  tramping  since  daylight.  It's  my  work  to 
hunt,  like  it's  your  work  to  ride."  He  had  swung 
into  the  trail  ahead  of  John  Doe  and  was  walk- 
ing with  long  strides, — the  tallest,  straightest, 
limberest  young  Swede  in  all  the  country.  He 
had  the  bluest  eyes,  the  readiest  smile,  the  health- 
iest color,  the  sunniest  hair  and  disposition  the 


58  THE  QUIRT 

Sawtooth  country  had  seen  for  many  a  day.  He 
had  homesteaded  an  eighty-acre  claim  on  the 
south  side  of  Bear  Top  and  had  by  that  means 
gained  possession  of  two  living  springs  and  the 
only  accessible  portion  of  Wilder  Creek  where  it 
crossed  the  meadow  called  Skyline  before  it 
plunged  into  a  gulch  too  narrow  for  cattle  to 
water  with  any  safety. 

The  Sawtooth  Cattle  Company  had  for  years 
"  covered  "  that  eighty-acre  patch  of  government 
land,  never  dreaming  that  any  one  would  ever  file 
on  it.  Swan  Vjolmar  was  there  and  had  his  log 
cabin  roofed  and  ready  for  the  door  and  windows 
before  the  Sawtooth  discovered  his  presence. 
Now,  nearly  a  year  afterwards,  he  was  accepted 
in  a  tolerant,  half-friendly  spirit.  He  had  not 
objected  to  the  Sawtooth  cattle  which  still 
watered  at  Skyline  Meadow.  He  was  a  "  Govern- 
ment hunter"  and  he  had  killed  many  coyotes 
and  lynx  and  even  a  mountain  lion  or  two.  Lone 
wondered  sometimes  what  the  Sawtooth  meant 
to  do  about  the  Swede,  but  so  far  tie  Sawtooth 
seemed  inclined  to  do  nothing  at  all,  evidently 
thinking  his  war  on  animal  pests  more  than 
atoned  for  his  effrontery  in  taking  Skyline  as  a 
homestead.  When  he  had  proven  up  on  his  claim 


"  BY  ACCIDENT  "  59 

they  would  probably  buy  him  out  and  have  the 
water  still. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know? "  Swan  turned 
his  head  to  inquire  abruptly.  "  You're  pretty 
quiet." 

Lone  roused  himself.  "  Fred  Thurman's  been 
dragged  to  death  by  that  damned  nighty  horse  of 
his,"  he  said.  "  I  found  him  in  the  brush  this 
side  of  Granite  Creek.  Had  his  foot  caught  in 
the  stirrup.  I  thought  I'd  best  leave  him  there 
till  the  coroner  can  view  him." 

Swan  stopped  short  in  the  trail  and  turned 
facing  Lone.  "  Last  night  my  dog  Yack  whines 
to  go  out.  He  went  and  sat  in  a  place  where  he 
looks  down  on  the  walley,  and  he  howled  for  half 
an  hour.  I  said  then  that  somebody  in  the  wal- 
ley has  died.  That  dog  is  something  queer  about 
it.  He  knows  things." 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Sawtooth,"  Lone  told  him. 
"I  can  telephone  to  the  coroner  from  there. 
Anybody  at  Thurman^s  place,  do  you  know?  " 

Swan  shook  his  head  and  started  again  down 
the  winding,  steep  trail.  "  I  don't  hunt  over  that 
way  for  maybe  a  week.  That's  too  bad  he's 
killed.  I  like  Fred  Thurman.  He's  a  fine  man, 
you  bet." 


60  THE  QUIRT 

"  He  was,"  said  Lone  soberly.  "  It's  a  damn 
shame  he  had  to  go — like  that." 

Swan  glanced  back  at  him,  studied  Lone's  face 
for  an  instant  and  turned  into  a  tributary  gully 
where  a  stream  trickled  down  over  water-worn 
rocks.  "Here  I  leave  you,"  he  volunteered,  as 
Lone  came  abreast  of  him.  "A  coyote's  crossed 
up  there,  and  I  maybe  find  his  tracks.  I  could 
go  do  chores  for  Fred  Thurman  if  nobody's  there. 
Should  I  do  that?  What  you  say,  Lone?  " 

"  You  might  drift  around  by  there  if  it  ain't 
too  much  out  of  your  way,  and  see  if  he's  got  a 
man  on  the  ranch,"  Lone  suggested.  "  But  you 
better  not  touch  anything  in  the  house,  Swan. 
The  coroner'll  likely  appoint  somebody  to  look 
around  and  see  if  he's  got  any  folks  to  send  his 
stuff  to.  Just  feed  any  stock  that's  kept  up,  if 
nobody's  there." 

"All  right,"  Swan  agreed  readily.  "I'll  do 
that,  Lone.  Good-by." 

Lone  nodded  and  watched  him  climb  the  steep 
slope  of  the  gulch  on  the  side  toward  Thurman's 
ranch.  Swan  climbed  swiftly,  seeming  to  take 
no  thought  of  where  he  put  his  feet,  yet  never 
once  slipping  or  slowing.  In  two  minutes  he  was 
out  of  sight,  and  Lone  rode  on  moodily,  trying  not 


"  BY  ACCIDENT '  61 

to  think  of  Fred  Thurman,  trying  to  shut  from 
his  mind  the  things  that  wild-eyed,  hoarse-voiced 
girl  had  told  him. 

"  Lone,  you  mind  your  own  business,"  he  ad- 
vised himself  once.  "  You  don't  know  anything 
that's  going  to  do  any  one  any  good,  and  what 
you  don't  know  there's  no  good  guessing.  But 
that  girl — she  mustn't  talk  like  that !  " 

Of  Swan  he  scarcely  gave  a  thought  after  the 
Swede  had  disappeared,  yet  Swan  was  worth  a 
thought  or  two,  even  from  a  man  who  was  bent 
on  minding  his  own  business.  Swan  had  no 
sooner  climbed  the  gulch  toward  Thurman's 
claim  than  he  proceeded  to  descend  rather  care- 
fully to  the  bottom  again,  walk  along  on  the 
rocks  for  some  distance  and  climb  to  the  ridge 
whose  farther  slope  led  down  to  Granite  Creek. 
He  did  not  follow  the  trail,  but  struck  straight 
across  an  outcropping  ledge,  descended  to  Gran- 
ite Creek  and  strode  along  next  the  hill  where  the 
soil  was  gravelly  and  barren.  When  he  had  gone 
some  distance,  he  sat  down  and  took  from  under 
his  coat  two  huge,  crudely  made  moccasins  of 
coyote  skin.  These  he  pulled  on  over  his  shoes, 
tied  them  around  his  ankles  and  went  on,  still 
keeping  close  under  the  hill. 


62  THE  QUIRT 

He  reacked  the  place  where  Fred  Thurman  lay, 
stood  well  away  from  the  body  and  studied  every 
detail  closely.  Then,  stepping  carefully  on  tram- 
pled brush  and  rocks,  he  approached  and  cau- 
tiously lifted  Lone's  coat.  It  was  not  a  pretty 
sight,  but  Swan's  interest  held  him  there  for  per- 
haps ten  minutes,  his  eyes  leaving  the  body  only 
when  the  blaze-faced  horse  moved.  Then  Swan 
would  look  up  quickly  at  the  horse,  seem  reas- 
sured when  he  saw  that  the  animal  was  not 
watching  anything  at  a  distance,  and  return 
to  his  curious  task.  Finally  he  drew  the  coat 
back  over  the  head  and  shoulders,  placed  each 
stone  exactly  as  he  had  found  it  and  went  up  to 
the  horse,  examining  the  saddle  rather  closely. 
After  that  he  retreated  as  carefully  as  he  had 
approached.  When  he  had  gone  half  a  mile  or 
so  upstream  he  found  a  place  where  he  could 
wash  his  hands  without  wetting  his  moccasins, 
returned  to  the  rocky  hillside  and  took  off  the 
clumsy  footgear  and  stowed  them  away  under  his 
coat.  Then  with  long  strides  that  covered  the 
ground  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  do  without  loping, 
Swan  headed  as  straight  as  might  be  for  the 
Thurman  ranch. 

About  noon  Swan  approached  the  crowd  of 


"  BY  ACCIDENT  '  63 

men  and  a  few  women  who  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance and  whispered  together,  with  their  faces 
averted  from  the  body  around  which  the  men 
stood  grouped.  The  news  had  spread  as  such 
news  will,  even  in  a  country  so  sparsely  settled  as 
the  Sawtooth.  Swan  counted  forty  men, — he 
did  not  bother  with  the  women.  Fred  Thurman 
had  been  known  to  every  one  of  them.  Some  one 
had  spread  a  piece  of  canvas  over  the  corpse,  and 
Swan  did  not  go  very  near.  The  blaze-faced 
horse  had  been  led  farther  away  and  tied  to  a 
cottonwood,  where  some  one  had  thrown  down  a 
bundle  of  hay.  The  Sawtooth  country  was  rather 
punctilious  in  its  duty  toward  the  law,  and  it  was 
generally  believed  that  the  coroner  would  want  to 
see  the  horse  that  had  caused  the  tragedy. 

Half  an  hour  after  Swan  arrived,  the  coroner 
came  in  a  machine,  and  with  him  came  the  sheriff. 
The  coroner,  an  important  little  man,  examined 
the  body,  the  horse  and  the  saddle,  and  there  was 
the  usual  formula  of  swearing  in  a  jury.  The 
inquest  was  rather  short,  since  tkere  was  only 
one  witness  to  testify,  and  Lone  merely  told  how 
he  had  discovered  the  horse  there  by  the  creek, 
and  that  the  body  had  not  been  moved  from 
where  he  found  it. 


64  THE  QUIRT 

Swan  went  over  to  where  Lone,  anxious  to  get 
away  from  the  place,  was  untying  his  horse  after 
the  jury  had  officially  named  the  death  an  acci- 
dent. 

"  I  guess  those  horses  could  be  turned  loose," 
he  began  without  prelude.  "What  you  think, 
Lone?  I  been  to  Thurman's  ranch,  and  I  don't 
find  anybody.  Some  horses  in  a  corral,  and  pigs 
in  a  pen,  and  chickens.  I  guess  Thurman  was 
living  alone.  Should  I  tell  the  coroner  that?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  Lone  replied  shortly.  "You  might 
speak  to  the  sheriff.  I  reckon  he's  the  man  to 
take  charge  of  things." 

"  It's  bad  business,  getting  killed,"  Swan  said 
vaguely.  "  It  makes  me  feel  damn  sorry  when  I 
go  to  that  ranch.  There's  the  horses  waiting  for 
breakfast — and  Thurman,  he's  dead  over  here 
and  can't  feed  his  pigs  and  his  chickens.  It's  a 
white  cat  over  there  that  comes  to  meet  me  and 
rubs  my  leg  and  purrs  like  it's  lonesome.  That's 
a  nice  ranch  he's  got,  too.  Now  what  becomes  of 
that  ranch?  What  you  think,  Lone?  " 

"Hell,  kow  should  I  know?"  Lone  scowled 
at  him  from  the  saddle  and  rode  away,  leaving 
Swan  standing  there  staring  after  him.  He 
turned  away  to  find  the  sheriff  and  almost  col- 


"  BY  ACCIDENT "  65 

lided  with  Brit  Hunter,  who  was  glancing  specu- 
latively  from  him  to  Lone  Morgan.  Swan 
stopped  and  put  out  his  hand  to  shake. 

"  Lone  says  I  should  tell  the  sheriff  I  could 
look  after  Fred  Thurman's  ranch.  What  you 
think,  Mr.  Hunter?  " 

"Good  idea,  I  guess.  Somebody'll  have  to. 

They  can't "  He  checked  himself.  "You 

got  a  horse?  I'll  ride  over  with  yuh,  maybe." 

"  I  got  legs,"  Swan  returned  laconically. 
"  They  don't  get  scared,  Mr.  Hunter,  and  maybe 
kill  me  sometime.  You  could  tell  the  sheriff  I'm 
government  hunter  and  honest  man,  and  I  take 
good  care  of  things.  You  could  do  that,  please?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Brit  and  rode  over  to  where  the 
sheriff  was  standing. 

The  sheriff  listened,  nodded,  beckoned  to  Swan. 
"  The  court'll  have  to  settle  up  the  estate  and  find 
his  heirs,  if  he's  got  any.  But  you  look  after 
things — what's  your  name?  Vjolmar — how  yuh 
spell  it?  I'll  swear  you  in  as  a  deputy.  Good 
Lord,  you're  a  husky  son-of-a-gun ! "  The  sher- 
iff's eyes  went  up  to  Swan's  hat  crown,  descended 
to  his  shoulders  and  lingered  there  admiringly 
for  a  moment,  traveled  down  his  flat,  hard-mus- 
cled body  and  his  straight  legs.  "  I'll  bet  you 


66  THE  QUIRT 

could  put  up  some  fight,  if  you  had  to,"  he  com- 
mented. 

Swan  grinned  good-humoredly,  glanced  con- 
science-stricken at  the  covered  figure  on  the 
ground  and  straightened  his  face  decorously. 

"  I  could  lick  you  good,"  he  admitted  in  a  stage 
whisper.  "  I'm  a  son-off-a-gun  all  right — only  I 
don't  never  get  mad  at  somebody." 

Brit  Hunter  smiled  at  that,  it  was  so  like  Swan 
Vjolmar.  But  when  they  were  halfway  to  Thur- 
man's  ranch — Brit  on  horseback  and  Swan  strid- 
ing easily  along  beside  him,  leading  the  blaze- 
faced  horse,  he  glanced  down  at  Swan's  face  and 
wondered  if  Swan  had  not  lied  a  little. 

"  What's  on  your  mind,  Swan? "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

Swan  started  and  looked  up  at  him,  glanced  at 
the  empty  hills  on  either  side,  and  stopped  still 
in  the  trail. 

"  Mr.  Hunter,  you  been  longer  in  the  country 
than  I  have  been.  You  seen  some  good  riding,  I 
bet.  Maybe  you  see  some  men  ride  backwards  on 
a  horse?  " 

Brit  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 
"  Backwards?  " 

Swan  led  up  the  blaze-faced  horse  and  pointed 


'  BY  ACCIDENT  '  67 

to  the  right  stirrup.  "  Spurs  would  scratch  like 
that  if  you  jerk  your  foot,  maybe.  You're  a  good 
rider,  Mr.  Hunter,  you  can  tell.  That's  a  right 
stirrup,  ain't  it?  Fred  Thurman,  he's  got  his 
left  foot  twist  around,  all  broke  from  jerking  in 

his  stirrup.      Left  foot  in  right  stirrup " 

He  pushed  back  his  hat  and  rumpled  his  yellow 
hair,  looking  up  into  Brit's  face  inquiringly. 
"  Left  foot  in  right  stirrup  is  riding  backwards. 
That's  a  damn  good  rider  to  ride  like  that — what 
you  think,  Mr.  Hunter?  " 


CHAPTER   SIX 

LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE 

TWICE  in  the  next  week  Lone  found  an  ex- 
cuse for  riding  over  to  the  Sawtooth.  Dur- 
ing his  first  visit,  the  foreman's  wife  told  him 
that  the  young  lady  was  still  too  sick  to  talk 
much.  The  second  time  he  went,  Pop  Bridgers 
spied  him  first  and  cackled  over  his  coming  to 
see  the  girl.  Lone  grinned  and  dissembled  as 
best  he  could,  knowing  that  Pop  Bridgers  fed  his 
imagination  upon  denials  and  argument  and  re- 
monstrance and  was  likely  to  build  gossip  that 
might  spread  beyond  the  Sawtooth.  Wherefore 
he  did  not  go  near  the  foreman's  house  that  day, 
but  contented  himself  with  gathering  from  Pop's 
talk  that  the  girl  was  still  there. 

After  that  he  rode  here  and  there,  wherever  he 
would  be  likely  to  meet  a  Sawtooth  rider,  and  so 
at  last  he  came  upon  Al  Woodruff  loping  along 
the  crest  of  Juniper  Eidge.  Al  at  first  displayed 
no  intention  of  stopping,  but  pulled  up  when  he 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       69 

saw  John  Doe  slowing  down  significantly.  Lone 
would  have  preferred  a  chat  with  some  one  else, 
for  this  was  a  sharp-eyed,  sharp-tongued  man; 
but  Al  Woodruff  stayed  at  the  ranch  and  would 
know  all  the  news,  and  even  though  he  might  give 
it  an  ill-natured  twist,  Lone  would  at  least  know 
what  was  going  on.  Al  hailed  him  with  a  laugh- 
ing epithet. 

"  Say,  you  sure  enough  played  hell  all  around,, 
bringin'  Brit  Hunter's  girl  to  the  Sawtooth !  "  he 
began,  chuckling  as  if  he  had  some  secret  joke. 
"Where'd  you  pick  her  up,  Lone?  She  claims 
you  found  her  at  Rock  City.  That  right?  " 

"  No,  it  ain't  right,"  Lone  denied  promptly,  his 
dark  eyes  meeting  Al's  glance  steadily.  "  I 
found  her  in  that  gulch  away  this  side.  She  was 
in  amongst  the  rocks  where  she  was  trying  to 
keep  outa  the  rain.  Brit  Hunter's  girl,  is  she? 
She  told  me  she  was  going  to  the  Sawtooth. 
She'd  have  made  it,  too,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
storm.  She  got  as  far  as  the  gulch,  and  the  light- 
ning scared  her  from  going  any  farther."  He 
offered  Al  his  tobacco  sack  and  fumbled  for  a 
match.  "  I  never  knew  Brit  Hunter  had  a  girl." 

"  Nor  me,"  Al  said  and  sifted  tobacco  into  a 
cigarette  paper.  "  Bob,  he  drove  hev  over  there 


70  THE  QUIRT 

yesterday.  Took  him  close  to  all  day  to  make  the 
trip — and  Bob,  he  claims  to  hate  women !  " 

"  So  would  I,  if  I'd  got  stung  for  fifty  thou- 
sand. She  ain't  that  kind.  She's  a  nice  girl,  far 
as  I  could  tell.  She  got  well,  all  right,  did  she?  " 

"Yeah — only  she  was  still  coughing  some 
when  she  left  the  ranch.  She  like  to  of  had 
pneumonia,  I  guess.  Queer  how  she  claimed  she 
spent  the  night  in  Eock  City,  ain't  it?  " 

"  No,"  Lone  answered  judicially,  "  I  don't 
know  as  it's  so  queer.  She  never  realized  how 
far  she'd  walked,  I  reckon.  She  was  plumb  crazy 
when  I  found  her.  You  couldn't  take  any  stock 
in  what  she  said.  Say,  you  didn't  see  that  bay  I 
was  halter-breaking,  did  yuh,  Al?  He  jumped 
the  fence  and  got  away  on  me,  day  before  yester- 
day. I'd  like  to  catch  him  up  again.  He'll  make 
a  good  horse." 

Al  had  not  seen  the  bay,  and  the  talk  tapered 
off  desultorily  to  a  final  "  So-long,  see  yuh  later." 
Lone  rode  on,  careful  not  to  look  back.  So  she 
was  Brit  Hunter's  girl !  Lone  whistled  softly  to 
himself  while  he  studied  this  new  angle  of  the 
problem, — for  a  problem  he  was  beginning  to  con- 
sider it.  She  was  Brit  Hunter's  girl,  and  she 
had  told  them  at  the  Sawtooth  that  she  had  spent 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       71 

the  night  at  Eock  City.  He  wondered  how  much 
else  she  had  told;  how  much  she  remembered  of 
what  she  had  told  him. 

He  reached  into  his  coat  pocket  and  pulled  out 
a  round  leather  purse  with  a  chain  handle.  It 
was  soiled  and  shrunken  with  its  wetting,  and 
the  clasp  had  flecks  of  rust  upon  it.  What  it 
contained  Lone  did  not  know.  Virginia  had 
taught  him  that  a  man  must  not  be  curious  about 
the  personal  belongings  of  a  woman.  Now  he 
turned  the  purse  over,  tried  to  rub  out  the  stiff- 
ness of  the  leather,  and  smiled  a  little  as  he 
dropped  it  back  into  his  pocket. 

"  I've  got  my  calling  card,"  he  said  softly  to 
John  Doe.  "  I  reckon  I  had  the  right  hunch 
when  I  didn't  turn  it  over  to  Mrs.  Hawkins.  I'll 
ask  her  again  about  that  grip  she  said  she  hid 
under  a  bush.  I  never  heard  about  any  of  the 
boys  finding  it." 

His  thoughts  returned  to  Al  Woodruff  and 
stopped  there.  Determined  still  to  attend 
strictly  to  his  own  affairs,  his  thoughts  persisted 
in  playing  truant  and  in  straying  to  a  subject  he 
much  preferred  not  to  think  of  at  all.  Why 
should  Al  Woodruff  be  interested  in  the  exact 
spot  where  Brit  Hunter's  daughter  Lad  spent  the 


72  THE  QUIRT 

night  of  the  storm?  Why  should  Lone  instinc- 
tively discount  her  statement  and  lie  whole-heart- 
edly about  it? 

"  Now  if  Al  catches  me  up  in  that,  he'll  think 

I  know  a  lot  I  don't  know,  or  else "  He 

halted  his  thoughts  there,  for  that,  too,  was  a 
forbidden  subject. 

Forbidden  subjects  are  like  other  forbidden 
things:  they  have  a  way  of  making  themselves 
very  conspicuous.  Lone  was  heading  for  the 
Quirt  ranch  by  the  most  direct  route,  fearing, 
perhaps,  that  if  he  waited  he  would  lose  his  nerve 
and  would  not  go  at  all.  Yet  it  was  important 
that  he  should  go;  he  must  return  the  girl's 
purse ! 

The  most  direct  route  to  the  Quirt  took  him 
down  Juniper  Ridge  and  across  Granite  Creek 
near  the  Thurman  ranch.  Indeed,  if  he  followed 
the  trail  up  Granite  Creek  and  across  the  hilly 
country  to  Quirt  Creek,  he  must  pass  within  fifty 
yards  of  the  Thurman  cabin.  Lone's  time  was 
limited,  yet  he  took  the  direct  route  rather  reluc- 
tantly. He  did  not  want  to  be  reminded  too 
sharply  of  Fred  Thurman  as  a  man  who  had  lived 
his  life  in  his  own  way  and  had  died  so  horribly. 

"  Well,  he  didn't  have  it  coming  to  him — but 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       73 

it's  done  and  over  with  now,  so  it's  no  use  think- 
ing about  it,"  he  reflected,  when  the  roofs  of  the 
Thurman  ranch  buildings  began  to  show  now  and 
then  through  the  thin  ranks  of  the  cottonwoods 
along  the  creek. 

But  his  face  sobered  as  he  rode  along.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  sleepy  little  meadows,  the 
quiet  murmuring  of  the  creek,  even  the  soft  rus- 
tling of  the  cottonwood  leaves  breathed  a  new 
loneliness,  an  emptiness  where  the  man  who  had 
called  this  place  home,  who  had  clung  to  it  in  the 
face  of  opposition  that  was  growing  into  open 
warfare,  had  lived  and  had  left  life  suddenly — 
unwarrantably,  Lone  knew  in  his  heart.  It 
might  be  of  no  use  to  think  about  it,  but  the  vivid 
memory  of  Fred  Thurman  was  with  him  when  he 
rode  up  the  trail  to  the  stable  and  the  small  cor- 
rals. He  had  to  think,  whether  he  would  or 
no. 

At  the  corral  he  came  unexpectedly  in  sight  of 
the  Swede,  who  grinned  a  guileless  welcome  and 
came  toward  him,  so  that  Lone  could  not  ride  on 
unless  he  would  advertise  his  dislike  of  the  place. 
John  Doe,  plainly  glad  to  find  an  excuse  to  stop, 
slowed  and  came  to  where  Swan  waited  by  the 
gate. 


74  THE  QUIRT 

"  By  golly,  this  is  lonesome  here,"  Swan  com- 
plained, heaving  a  great  sigh.  "That  judge 
don't  get  busy  pretty  quick,  I'm  maybe  jumping 
my  job.  Lone,  what  you  think?  You  believe  in 
ghosts?  " 

"  Naw.  What's  on  your  chest,  Swan?  "  Lone 
slipped  sidewise  in  the  saddle,  resting  his  mus- 
cles. "  You  been  seeing  things?  " 

"No — I  don't  be  seeing  things,  Lone.  But 
sometimes  I  been — like  I  feel  something."  He 
stared  at  Lone  questioningly.  "  What  you  think, 
Lone,  if  you  be  sitting  down  eating  your  supper, 
maybe,  and  you  feel  something  say  words  in  your 
brain?  Like  you  know  something  talks  to  you 
and  then  quits." 

Lone  gave  Swan  a  long,  measuring  look,  and 
Swan  laughed  uneasily. 

"  That  sounds  crazy.  But  it's  true,  what  some- 
thing tells  me  in  my  brain.  I  go  and  look,  and 
by  golly,  it's  there  just  like  the  words  tell  me." 

Lone  straightened  in  the  saddle.  "  You  better 
come  clean,  Swan,  and  tell  the  whole  thing. 
What  was  it?  Don't  talk  in  circles.  What 
words  did  you  feel — in  your  brain?  "  In  spite 
of  himself,  Lone  felt  as  he  had  when  the  girl  had 
talked  to  him  and  called  him  Charlie. 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       75 

Swan  closed  the  gate  behind  him  with  steady 
hands.  His  lips  were  pressed  firmly  together,  as 
if  he  had  definitely  made  up  his  mind  to  some- 
thing. Lone  was  impressed  somehow  with 
Swan's  perfect  control  of  his  speech,  his  thoughts, 
his  actions.  But  he  was  puzzled  rather  than 
anything  else,  and  when  Swan  turned,  facing 
him,  Lone's  bewilderment  did  not  lessen. 

"  I'll  tell  you.  It's  when  I'm  sitting  down  to 
eat  my  supper.  I'm  just  reaching  out  my  hand 
like  this,  to  get  my  coffee.  And  something  says 
in  my  head,  '  It's  a  lie.  I  don't  ride  backwards. 

Go  look  at  my  saddle.  There's  blood '  And 

that's  all.  It's  like  the  words  go  far  away  so  I 
can't  hear  any  more.  So  I  eat  my  supper,  and 
then  I  get  the  lantern  and  I  go  look.  You  come 
with  me,  Lone.  I'll  show  you." 

Without  a  word  Lone  dismounted  and  followed 
Swan  into  a  small  shed  beside  the  stable,  where 
a  worn  stock  saddle  hung  suspended  from  a  cross- 
piece,  a  rawhide  string  looped  over  the  horn. 
Lone  did  not  ask  whose  saddle  it  was,  nor  did 
Swan  name  the  owner.  There  was  no  need. 

Swan  took  the  saddle  and  swung  it  around  so 
that  the  right  side  was  toward  them.  It  was 
what  is  called  a  full-stamped  saddle,  with  the 


76  THE  QUIRT 

popular  wild-rose  design  on  skirts  and  cantle. 
Much,  hard  use  and  occasional  oilings  had  dark- 
ened the  leather  to  a  rich,  red  brown,  marred  with 
old  scars  and  scratches  and  the  stains  of  many 
storms. 

"  Blood  is  hard  to  find  when  it's  raining  all 
night,"  Swan  observed,  speaking  low  as  one  does 
in  the  presence  of  death.  "  But  if  somebody  is 
bleeding  and  falls  off  a  horse  slow,  and  catches 

hold  of  things  and  tries  like  hell  to  hang  on " 

He  lifted  the  small  flap  that  covered  the  cinch 
ring  and  revealed  a  reddish,  flaked  stain.  Phleg- 
matically  he  wetted  his  finger  tip  on  his  tongue, 
rubbed  the  stain  and  held  up  his  finger  for  Lone 
to  see.  "  That's  a  damn  funny  place  for  blood, 
when  a  man  is  dragging  on  the  ground,"  he  com- 
mented drily.  "And  something  else  is  damn 
funny,  Lone." 

He  lifted  the  wooden  stirrup  and  touched  with 
his  finger  the  rowel  marks.  "  That  is  on  the 
front  part,"  he  said.  "  I  could  swear  in  court 
that  Fred's  left  foot  was  twisted — that's  damn 
funny,  Lone.  I  don't  see  men  ride  backwards, 
much." 

Lone  turned  on  him  and  struck  the  stirrup 
from  his  hand.  "  I  think  you  better  forget  it," 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       77 

he  said  fiercely.  "  He's  dead — it  can't  help  him 
any  to "  He  stopped  and  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. "  Swan,  you  take  a  fool's  advice  and 
don't  tell  anybody  else  about  feeling  words  talk 
in  your  head.  They'll  have  you  in  the  bug-house 
at  Blackfoot,  sure  as  you  live."  He  looked  at  the 
saddle,  hesitated,  looked  again  at  Swan,  who  was 
watching  him.  "  That  blood  most  likely  got 
there  when  Fred  was  packing  a  deer  in  from  the 
hills.  And  marks  on  them  old  oxbow  stirrups 
don't  mean  a  damn  thing  but  the  need  of  a  new 
pair,  maybe."  He  forced  a  laugh  and  stepped 
outside  the  shed.  "  Just  shows  you,  Swan,  that 
imagination  and  being  alone  all  the  time  can 
raise  Cain  with  a  fellow.  You  want  to  watch 
yourself." 

Swan  followed  him  out,  closing  the  door  care- 
fully behind  him.  "  By  golly,  I'm  watching  out 
now,"  he  assented  thoughtfully.  "  You  don't  tell 
anybody,  Lone." 

"  No,  I  won't  tell  anybody — and  I'd  advise  you 
not  to,"  Lone  repeated  grimly.  "  Just  keep  those 
thoughts  outa  your  head,  Swan.  They're  bad 
medicine." 

He  mounted  John  Doe  and  rode  away,  his 
eyes  downcast,  his  quirt  slapping  absently  the 


78  THE  QUIRT 

weeds  along  the  trail.  It  was  not  his  business, 

and  yet Lone  shook  himself  together  and 

put  John  Doe  into  a  lope.  He  had  warned  Swan, 
and  he  could  do  no  more. 

Halfway  to  the  Quirt  he  met  Lorraine  riding 
along  the  trail.  She  would  have  passed  him  with 
no  sign  of  recognition,  but  Lone  lifted  his  hat  and 
stopped.  Lorraine  looked  at  him,  rode  on  a  few 
steps  and  turned.  "  Did  you  wish  to  speak  about 
something?  "  she  asked  impersonally. 

Lone  felt  the  flush  in  his  cheeks,  which  angered 
him  to  the  point  of  speaking  curtly.  "  Yes.  I 
found  your  purse  where  you  dropped  it  that  night 
you  were  lost.  I  was  bringing  it  over  to  you. 
My  name's  Morgan.  I'm  the  man  that  found  you 
and  took  you  in  to  the  ranch." 

"Oh."  Lorraine  looked  at  him  steadily. 
"  You're  the  one  they  call  Loney?  " 

"  When  they're  feeling  good  toward  me.  I'm 
Lone  Morgan.  I  went  back  to  find  your  grip — 
you  said  you  left  it  under  a  bush,  but  the  world's 
plumb  full  of  bushes.  I  found  your  purse, 
though." 

"  Thank  you  so  much.  I  must  have  been  an 
awful  nuisance,  but  I  was  so  scared — and  things 
were  terribly  mixed  in  my  mind.  I  didn't  even 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       79 

have  sense  enough,  to  tell  you  what  ranch  I  was 
trying  to  find,  did  I?  So  you  took  me  to  the 
wrong  one,  and  I  was  a  week  there  before  I  found 
it  out.  And  then  they  were  perfectly  lovely 
about  it  and  brought  me — home."  She  turned 
the  purse  over  and  over  in  her  hands,  looking  at 
it  without  much  interest.  She  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  ride  on,  which  gave  Lone  courage. 

"  There's  something  I'd  like  to  say,"  he  began, 
groping  for  words  that  would  make  his  meaning 
plain  without  telling  too  much.  "  I  hope  you 
won't  mind  my  telling  you.  You  were  kinda  out 
of  your  head  when  I  found  you,  and  you  said 
something  about  seeing  a  man  shot  and " 

"  Oh ! "  Lorraine  looked  up  at  him,  looked 
through  him,  he  thought,  with  those  brilliant 
eyes  of  hers.  "  Then  I  did  tell " 

"  I  just  wanted  to  say,"  Lone  interrupted  her, 
"that  I  knew  all  the  time  it  was  just  a  night- 
mare. I  never  mentioned  it  to  anybody,  and 
you'll  forget  all  about  it,  I  hope.  You  didn't  tell 
any  one  else,  did  you?  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  again  and  found  her  study- 
ing him  curiously.  "  You're  not  the  man  I  saw," 
she  said,  as  if  she  were  satisfying  herself  on  that 
point.  "  I've  wondered  since — but  I  was  sure, 


80  THE  QUIRT 

too,  that  I  had  seen  it.  Why  mustn't  I  tell  any 
one?  " 

Lone  did  not  reply  at  once.  The  girl's  eyes 
were  disconcertingly  direct,  her  voice  and  her 
manner  disturbed  him  with  their  judicial  calm- 
ness, so  at  variance  with  the  wildness  he  remem- 
bered. 

"  Well,  it's  hard  to  explain,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  You're  strange  to  this  country,  and  you  don't 
know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of — things.  It  wouldn't 
do  any  good  to  you  or  anybody  else,  and  it  might 
do  a  lot  of  harm."  His  eyes  nicked  her  face  with 
a  wistful  glance.  "  You  don't  know  me — I  really 
haven't  got  any  right  to  ask  or  expect  you  to  trust 
me.  But  I  wish  you  would,  to  the  extent  of  for- 
getting that  you  saw — or  thought  you  saw — any- 
thing that  night  in  Kock  City." 

Lorraine  shivered  and  covered  her  eyes  swiftly 
with  one  hand.  His  words  had  brought  back  too 
sharply  that  scene.  But  she  shook  off  the  emo- 
tion and  faced  him  again. 

"  I  saw  a  man  murdered,"  she  cried.  "  I 
wasn't  sure  afterwards;  sometimes  I  thought  I 
had  dreamed  it.  But  I  was  sure  I  saw  it.  I  saw 
the  horse  go  by,  running — and  you  want  me  to 
keep  still  about  that?  What  harm  could  it  do  to 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       81 

tell?  Perhaps  it's  true — perhaps  I  did  see  it  all. 
I  might  think  you  were  trying  to  cover  up  some- 
thing— only,  you're  not  the  man  I  saw — or 
thought  I  saw." 

"  No,  of  course  I'm  not.  You  dreamed  the 
whole  thing,  and  the  way  you  talked  to  me  was  so 
wild,  folks  would  say  you're  crazy  if  they  heard 
you  tell  it.  You're  a  stranger  here,  Miss  Hunter, 
and — your  father  is  not  as  popular  in  this  coun- 
try as  he  might  be.  He's  got  enemies  that  would 
be  glad  of  the  chance  to  stir  up  trouble  for  him. 
You — just  dreamed  all  that.  I'm  asking  you  to 
forget  a  bad  dream,  that's  all,  and  not  go  telling 
it  to  other  folks." 

For  some  time  Lorraine  did  not  answer.  The 
horses  conversed  with  sundry  nose-rubbings,  nib- 
bled idly  at  convenient  brush  tips,  and  wondered 
no  doubt  why  their  riders  were  so  silent.  Lone 
tried  to  think  of  some  stronger  argument,  some 
appeal  that  would  reach  the  girl  without  fright- 
ening her  or  causing  her  to  distrust  him.  But 
he  did  not  know  what  more  he  could  say  without 
telling  her  what  must  not  be  told. 

"Just  how  would  it  make  trouble  for  my 
father?"  Lorraine  asked  at  last.  "I  can't  be- 
lieve you'd  ask  me  to  help  cover  up  a  crime,  but 


82  THE  QJJIRT 

it  seems  hard  to  believe  that  a  nightmare  would 
cause  any  great  commotion.  And  why  is  my 
father  unpopular?  " 

"Well,  you  don't  know  this  country,"  Lone 
parried  inexpertly.  "  It's  all  right  in  some  ways, 
and  in  some  ways  it  could  be  a  lot  improved. 
Folks  haven't  got  much  to  talk  about.  They  go 
around  gabbling  their  heads  off  about  every  little 
thing,  and  adding  onto  it  until  you  can't  recog- 
nize your  own  remarks  after  they've  been  peddled 
for  a  week.  You've  maybe  seen  places  like 
that." 

"  Oh,  yes."  Lorraine's  eyes  lighted  with  a 
smile.  "  Take  a  movie  studio,  for  instance." 

"  Yes.  Well,  you  being  a  stranger,  you  would 
get  all  the  worst  of  it.  I  just  thought  I'd  tell 
you;  I'd  hate  to  see  you  misunderstood  by  folks 
around  here.  I — I  feel  kinda  responsible  for 
you ;  I'm  the  one  that  found  you." 

Lorraine's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  to 
know  one  person  in  the  country  who  doesn't  gab- 
bio  his  head  off.  You  haven't  answered  any  of 
my  questions,  and  you've  made  me  feel  as  if  you'd 
found  a  dangerous,  wild  woman  that  morning. 
It  isn't  very  flattering,  but  I  think  you're  honest, 
anyway." 


LONE  ADVISES  SILENCE       83 

Lone  smiled  for  the  first  time,  and  she  found 
his  smile  pleasant.  "  I'm  no  angel,"  he  dis- 
claimed modestly,  "  and  most  folks  think  I  could 
be  improved  on  a  whole  lot.  But  I'm  honest  in 
one  way.  I'm  thinking  about  what's  best  for 
you,  this  time." 

"  I'm  terribly  grateful,"  Lorraine  laughed.  "  I 
shall  take  great  care  not  to  go  all  around  the 
country  telling  people  my  dreams.  I  can  see 
that  it  wouldn't  make  me  awfully  popular." 
Then  she  sobered.  "Mr.  Morgan,  that  was  a 
horrible  kind  of — nightmare.  Why,  even  last 
night  I  woke  up  shivering,  just  imagining  it  all 
over  again." 

"  It  was  sure  horrible  the  way  you  talked  about 
it,"  Lone  assured  her.  "  It's  because  you  were 
sick,  I  reckon.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  as  close  as 
you  can  where  you  left  that  grip  of  yours.  You 
said  it  was  under  a  bush  where  a  rabbit  was  sit- 
ting. I'd  like  to  find  the  grip — but  I'm  afraid 
that  rabbit  has  done  moved !  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Warfield  and  I  found  it,  thank  you. 
The  rabbit  had  moved,  but  I  sort  of  remembered 
how  the  road  had  looked  along  there,  and  we 
hunted  until  we  discovered  the  place.  Dad  has 
driven  in  after  my  other  luggage  to-day — and  I 


84  THE  QUIRT 

believe  I  must  be  getting  home.    I  was  only  out 
for  a  little  ride." 

She  thanked  him  again  for  the  trouble  he  had 
taken  and  rode  away.  Lone  turned  off  the  trail 
and,  picking  his  way  around  rough  outcroppings 
of  rock,  and  across  unexpected  little  gullies, 
headed  straight  for  the  ford  across  Granite  Creek 
and  home.  Brit  Hunter's  girl,  he  was  thinking, 
was  even  nicer  than  he  had  pictured  her.  And 
that  she  could  believe  in  the  nightmare  was  a  vast 
relief. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER 

BRIT  HUNTER  finished  washing  the  break- 
fast dishes  and  put  a  stick  of  wood  into  the 
broken  old  cook-stove  that  had  served  him  and 
Frank  for  fifteen  years  and  was  feeling  its  age. 
Lorraine's  breakfast  was  in  the  oven,  keeping 
warm.  Brit  looked  in,  tested  the  heat  with  his 
gnarled  hand  to  make  sure  that  the  sour-dough 
biscuits  would  not  be  dried  to  crusts,  and  closed 
the  door  upon  them  and  the  bacon  and  fried  pota- 
toes. Frank  Johnson  had  the  horses  saddled  and 
it  was  time  to  go,  yet  Brit  lingered,  uneasily  con- 
scious that  his  habitation  was  lacking  in  many 
things  which  a  beautiful  young  woman  might 
consider  absolute  necessities.  He  had  seen  in 
Lorraine's  eyes,  as  they  glanced  here  and  there 
about  the  grimy  walls,  a  certain  disparagement 
of  her  surroundings.  The  look  had  made  him 
wince,  though  he  could  not  quite  decide  what  it 
was  that  displeased  her.  Maybe  she  wanted  lace 
curtains,  or  something. 


86  THE  QUIRT 

He  set  the  four  chairs  in  a  row  against  the 
wall,  swept  up  the  bits  of  bark  and  ashes  beside 
the  stove,  made  sure  that  the  water  bucket  was 
standing  full  on  its  bench  beside  the  door,  sent 
another  critical  glance  around  the  room,  and  tip- 
toed over  to  the  dish  cupboard  and  let  down  the 
flowered  calico  curtain  that  had  been  looped  up 
over  a  nail  for  convenience.  The  sun  sent  a 
bright,  wide  bar  of  yellow  light  across  the  room 
to  rest  on  the  shelf  behind  the  stove  where  stood 
the  salt  can,  the  soda,  the  teapot,  a  box  of 
matches  and  two  pepper  cans,  one  empty  and  the 
other  full.  Brit  always  meant  to  throw  out  that 
empty  pepper  can  and  always  neglected  to  do  so. 
Just  now  he  remembered  picking  up  the  empty 
one  and  shaking  it  over  the  potatoes  f  utilely  and 
then  changing  it  for  the  full  one.  But  he  did  not 
take  it  away ;  in  the  wilderness  one  learns  to  save 
useless  things  in  the  faint  hope  that  some  day 
they  may  become  useful.  The  shelves  were  clut- 
tered with  fit  companions  to  that  empty  pepper 
can.  Brit  thought  that  he  would  have  "  cleaned 
out "  had  he  known  that  Lorraine  was  coming. 
Since  she  was  here,  it  scarcely  seemed  worth 
while. 

He  walked  on  his  boot-toes  to  the  door  of  the 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        87, 

second  room  of  the  cabin,  listened  there  for  a 
minute,  heard  no  sound  and  took  a  tablet  and 
pencil  off  another  shelf  littered  with  useless 
things.  The  note  which  he  wrote  painstakingly, 
lest  she  might  think  him  lacking  in  education,  he 
laid  upon  the  table  beside  Lorraine's  plate ;  then 
went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him  as  quietly 
as  a  squeaking  door  can  be  made  to  close. 

Lorraine,  in  the  other  room,  heard  the  squeak 
and  sat  up.  Her  wrist  watch,  on  the  chair  beside 
her  bed,  said  that  it  was  fifteen  minutes  past  six, 
which  she  considered  an  unearthly  hour  for  ris- 
ing. She  pulled  up  the  covers  and  tried  to  sleep 
again.  The  day  would  be  long  enough,  at  best. 
There  was  nothing  to  do,  unless  she  took  that 
queer  old  horse  with  withers  like  the  breastbone 
of  a  lean  Christmas  turkey  and  hips  that  re- 
minded her  of  the  little  roofs  over  dormer  win- 
dows, and  went  for  a  ride.  And  if  she  did  that, 
there  was  nowhere  to  go  and  nothing  to  do  when 
she  arrived  there. 

In  a  very  few  days  Lorraine  had  exhausted  the 
sights  of  Quirt  Creek  and  vicinity.  If  she  rode 
south  she  would  eventually  come  to  the  top  of  a 
hill  whence  she  could  look  down  upon  further 
stretches  of  barrenness.  If  she  rode  east  she 


88  THE  QUIRT 

would  come  eventually  to  the  road  along  which 
she  had  walked  from  Echo,  Idaho.  Lorraine  had 
had  enough  of  that  road.  If  she  went  north  she 
would — well,  she  would  not  meet  Mr.  Lone  Mor- 
gan again,  for  she  had  tried  it  twice,  and  had 
turned  back  because  there  seemed  no  end  to  the 
trail  twisting  through  the  sage  and  rocks.  West 
she  had  not  gone,  but  she  had  no  doubt  that  it 
would  be  the  same  dreary  monotony  of  dull  gray 
landscape. 

Monotony  of  landscape  was  one  thing  which 
Lorraine  could  not  endure,  unless  it  had  a  fore- 
ground of  riders  hurtling  here  and  there,  and  of 
perspiring  men  around  a  camera  tripod.  At  the 
Sawtooth  ranch,  after  she  was  able  to  be  up,  she 
had  seen  cowboys,  but  they  had  lacked  the  dash 
and  the  picturesque  costuming  of  the  West  she 
knew.  They  were  mostly  commonplace  young 
men,  jogging  past  the  house  on  horseback,  or 
loitering  down  by  the  corrals.  They  had  offered 
absolutely  no  interest  or  "  color  "  to  the  place, 
and  the  owner's  eon.  Bob  Warfield,  had  driven 
her  over  to  the  Quirt  in  a  Ford  and  had  seemed 
exactly  like  any  other  big,  good-looking  young 
man  who  thought  well  of  himself.  Lorraine  was 
not  susceptible  to  mere  good  looks,  three  years 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        89 

with  the  "  movies  "  having  disillusioned  her  quite 
thoroughly.  Too  many  young  men  of  Bob  War- 
field's  general  type  had  attempted  to  make  love  to 
her — lightly  and  not  too  well — for  Lorraine  to  be 
greatly  impressed. 

She  yawned,  looked  at  her  watch  again,  found 
that  she  had  spent  exactly  six  minutes  in  medi- 
tating upon  her  immediate  surroundings,  and  fell 
to  wondering  why  it  was  that  the  real  West  was 
so  terribly  commonplace.  Why,  yesterday  she 
had  been  brought  to  such  a  pass  of  sheer  loneli- 
ness that  she  had  actually  been  driven  to  reading 
an  old  horse-doctor  book!  She  had  learned  the 
symptoms  of  epizootic — whatever  that  was — and 
poll-evil  and  stringhalt,  and  had  gone  from  that 
to  making  a  shopping  tour  through  a  Montgom- 
ery-Ward catalogue.  There  was  nothing  else  in 
the  house  to  read,  except  a  half  dozen  old  copies 
of  the  Boise  News. 

There  was  nothing  to  do,  nothing  to  see,  no  one 
to  talk  to.  Her  dad  and  the  big,  heavy-set  man 
whom  he  called  Frank,  seemed  uncomfortably 
aware  of  their  deficiencies  and  were  pitiably  anx- 
ious to  make  her  feel  welcome, — and  failed. 
They  called  her  "  Kaine."  The  other  two  men 
did  not  call  her  anything  at  all.  They  were  both 


90  THE  QUIRT 

sandy-complexioned  and  they  both  chewed  to- 
bacco quite  noticeably,  and  when  they  sat  down 
in  their  shirt  sleeves  to  eat,  Lorraine  had  seen 
irregular  humps  in  their  hip  pockets  which  must 
be  six-guns ;  though  why  they  should  carry  them 
in  their  pockets  instead  of  in  holster  belts  buck- 
led properly  around  their  bodies  and  sagging 
savagely  down  at  one  side  and  swinging  fero- 
ciously when  they  walked,  Lorraine  could  not 
imagine.  They  did  not  wear  chaps,  either,  and 
their  spurs  were  just  spurs,  without  so  much  as 
a  silver  concho  anywhere.  Cowboys  in  overalls 
and  blue  gingham  shirts  and  faded  old  coats 
whose  lapels  lay  in  wrinkles  and  whose  pockets 
were  torn  down  at  the  corners !  If  Lorraine  had 
not  been  positive  that  this  was  actually  a  cattle 
ranch  in  Idaho,  she  never  would  have  believed 
that  they  were  anything  but  day  laborers. 

"  It's  a  comedy  part  for  the  cattle-queen's 
daughter,"  she  admitted,  putting  out  a  hand  to 
stroke  the  lean,  gray  cat  that  jumped  upon  her 
bed  from  the  open  window.  "  Ket,  it's  a  scream! 
I'll  take  my  West  before  the  camera,  thank  you ; 
or  I  would,  if  I  hadn't  jumped  right  into  the  mid- 
dle of  this  trick  West  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
doing.  Ket,  what  do  you  do  to  pass  away  the 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        91 

time?    I  don't  see  how  you  can  have  the  nerve  to 
live  in  an  empty  space  like  this  and  purr !  " 

She  got  up  then,  looked  into  the  kitchen  and 
saw  the  paper  on  the  table.  This  was  new  and 
vaguely  promised  some  sort  of  break  in  the 
deadly  monotony  which  she  saw  stretching  end- 
lessly before  her.  Carrying  the  nameless  cat  in 
her  arms,  Lorraine  went  in  her  bare  feet  across 
the  grimy,  bare  floor  to  the  table  and  picked  up 
the  note.  It  read  simply : 

"  Your  brekf  ast  is  in  the  oven  we  wont  be 
back  till  dark  maby.  Dont  leave  the  ranch 
today.  Yr  loveing  father." 

Lorraine  hugged  the  cat  so  violently  that  she 
choked  off  a  purr  in  the  middle.  "  *  Don't  leave 
the  ranch  to-day ! '  Ket,  I  believe  it's  going  to 
be  dangerous  or  something,  after  all." 

She  dressed  quickly  and  went  outside  into  the 
sunlight,  the  cat  at  her  heels,  the  thrill  of  that 
one  command  filling  the  gray  monotone  of  the 
hills  with  wonderful  possibilities  of  adventure. 
Her  father  had  made  no  objection  before  when 
she  went  for  a  ride.  He  had  merely  instructed 
her  to  keep  to  the  trails,  and  if  she  didn't  know 
the  way  home,  to  let  the  reins  lie  loose  on  Yellow- 


92  THE  QUIRT 

jacket's  neck  and  he  would  bring  her  to  the 
gate. 

Yellowjacket's  instinct  for  direction  had  not 
been  working  that  day,  however.  Lorraine  had 
no  sooner  left  the  ranch  out  of  sight  behind  her 
than  she  pretended  that  she  was  lost.  Yellow- 
jacket  had  thereupon  walked  a  few  rods  farther 
and  stopped,  patiently  indifferent  to  the  location 
of  his  oats  box.  Lorraine  had  waited  until  his 
head  began  to  droop  lower  and  lower,  and  his 
switching  at  flies  had  become  purely  automatic. 
Yellowjacket  was  going  to  sleep  without  making 
any  effort  to  find  the  way  home.  But  since  Lor- 
raine had  not  told  her  father  anything  about  it, 
his  injunction  could  not  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  unreliability  of  the  horse. 

"  Now,"  she  said  to  the  cat,  "  if  three  or  four 
bandits  would  appear  on  the  ridge,  over  there, 
and  come  tearing  down  into  the  immediate  fore- 
ground, jump  the  gate  and  surround  the  house, 
I'd  know  this  was  the  real  thing.  They'd  want 
to  make  me  tell  where  dad  kept  his  gold  or  what- 
ever it  was  they  wanted,  and  they'd  have  me  tied 
to  a  chair — and  then,  cut  to  Lone  Morgan  (that's 
a  perfectly  wonderful  name  for  the  lead!)  hear- 
ing shots  and  coming  on  a  dead  run  to  the  res- 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        93 

cue."  She  picked  up  the  cat  and  walked  slowly 
down  the  hard-trodden  path  to  the  stable.  "  But 
there  aren't  any  bandits,  and  dad  hasn't  any  gold 
or  anything  else  worth  stealing — Ket,  if  dad  isn't 
a  miser,  he's  poor!  And  Lone  Morgan  is  merely 
ashamed  of  the  way  I  talked  to  him,  and  afraid 
I'll  queer  myself  with  the  neighbors.  No  West- 
ern lead  that  /  ever  saw  would  act  like  that. 
Why,  he  didn't  even  want  to  ride  home  with  me, 
that  day. 

"  And  Bob  Warfield  and  his  Ford  are  incidents 
of  the  past,  and  not  one  soul  at  the  Sawtooth 
seems  to  give  a  darn  whether  I'm  in  the  country 
or  out  of  it.  Soon  as  they  found  out  where  I 
belonged,  they  brought  me  over  here  and  dropped 
me  and  forgot  all  about  me.  And  that,  I  sup- 
pose, is  what  they  call  in  fiction  the  Western 
spirit ! 

"  Dad  looked  exactly  as  if  he'd  opened  the  door 
to  a  book  agent  when  I  came.  He — he  tolerates 
my  presence,  Ket!  And  Frank  Johnson's  pipe 
smells  to  high  heaven,  and  I  hate  him  in  the 
house  and  '  the  boys  ' — hmhm !  The  boys — Ket, 
it  would  be  terribly  funny,  if  I  didn't  have  to  stay 
here." 

She  had  reached  the  corral  and  stood  balancing 


94  THE  QUIRT 

the  cat  on  a  warped  top  rail,  staring  disconso- 
lately at  Yellow  jacket,  who  stood  in  a  far  corner 
switching  at  flies  and  shamelessly  displaying  all 
the  angularity  of  his  bones  under  a  yellowish 
hide  with  roughened  hair  that  was  shedding 
dreadfully,  as  Lorraine  had  discovered  to  her  dis- 
may when  she  removed  her  green  corduroy  skirt 
after  riding  him.  Yellow  jacket's  lower  lip 
sagged  with  senility  or  lack  of  spirit,  Lorraine 
could  not  tell  which. 

"  You  look  like  the  frontispiece  in  that  horse- 
doctor  book,"  she  remarked,  eyeing  him  with  dis- 
favor. "  I  can't  say  that  comedy  hide  you've  got 
improves  your  appearance.  You'd  be  better 
peeled,  I  believe." 

She  heard  a  chuckle  behind  her  and  turned 
quickly,  palm  up  to  shield  her  eyes  from  the 
straight,  bright  rays  of  the  sun.  Now  here  was 
a  live  man,  after  all,  with  his  hat  tilted  down 
over  his  forehead,  a  cigarette  in  one  hand  and  his 
reins  in  the  other,  looking  at  her  and  smiling. 

"  Why  don't  you  peel  him,  just  on  a  chance?  " 
His  smile  broadened  to  a  grin,  but  when  Lorraine 
continued  to  look  at  him  with  a  neutral  expres- 
sion in  her  eyes,  he  threw  away  his  cigarette  and 
abandoned  with  it  his  free-and-easy  manner. 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        95 

"  You're  Miss  Hunter,  aren't  you?  I  rode  over 
to  see  your  father.  Thought  I'd  find  him  some- 
where around  the  corral,  maybe." 

"  You  won't,  because  he's  gone  for  the  day. 
No,  I  don't  know  where." 

"  I — see.    Is  Mr.  Johnson  anywhere  about?  " 

"No,  I  don't  believe  any  one  is  anywhere 
about.  They  were  all  gone  when  I  got  up,  a  little 
while  ago."  Then,  remembering  that  she  did  not 
know  this  man,  and  that  she  was  a  long  way  from 
neighbors,  she  added,  "  If  you'll  leave  a  message 
I  can  tell  dad  when  he  comes  home." 

"  No-o — I'll  ride  over  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
I'm  the  man  at  Whisper.  You  can  tell  him  I 
called,  and  that  I'll  call  again." 

Still  he  did  not  go,  and  Lorraine  waited.  Some 
instinct  warned  her  that  the  man  had  not  yet 
stated  his  real  reason  for  coming,  and  she  won- 
dered a  little  what  it  could  be.  He  seemed  to  be 
watching  her  covertly,  yet  she  failed  to  catch  any 
telltale  admiration  for  her  in  his  scrutiny.  She 
decided  that  his  forehead  was  too  narrow  to 
please  her,  and  that  his  eyes  were  too  close  to- 
gether, and  that  the  lines  around  his  mouth  were 
cruel  lines  and  gave  the  lie  to  his  smile,  which 
was  pleasant  enough  if  you  just  looked  at  the 


96  THE  QUIRT 

smile  and  paid  no  attention  to  anything  else  in 
his  face. 

"  You  had  quite  an  experience  getting  out  hero, 
they  tell  me,"  he  observed  carelessly;  too  care- 
lessly, thought  Lorraine,  who  was  well  schooled 
in  the  circumlocutions  of  delinquent  tenants, 
agents  of  various  sorts  and  those  who  crave  small 
gossip  of  their  neighbors.  "  Heard  you  were  lost 
up  in  Rock  City  all  night." 

Lorraine  looked  up  at  him,  startled.  "  I 
caught  a  terrible  cold,"  she  said,  laughing  nerv- 
ously. ,"  I'm  not  used  to  the  climate,"  she  added 
guardedly. 

The  man  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  produced 
smoking  material.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke?  " 
he  asked  perfunctorily. 

"  Why,  no.  It  doesn't  concern  me  in  the 
slightest  degree."  Why,  she  thought  confusedly, 
must  she  always  be  reminded  of  that  horrible 
place  of  rocks?  What  was  it  to  this  man  where 
she  had  been  lost? 

"  You  must  of  got  there  about  the  time  the 
storm  broke,"  the  man  hazarded  after  a  silence. 
"  It's  sure  a  bad  place  in  a  thunderstorm.  Them 
rocks  draw  lightning.  Pretty  bad,  wasn't 
it?" 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        97 

"  Lightning  is  always  bad,  isn't  it?  "  Lorraine 
tried  to  hold  her  voice  steady.  "I  don't  know 
much  about  it.  We  don't  have  thunderstorms  to 
amount  to  anything,  in  Los  Angeles.  It  some- 
times does  thunder  there  in  the  winter,  but  it  is 
very  mild." 

With  hands  that  trembled  she  picked  the  cat 
off  the  rail  and  started  toward  the  house.  "  I'll 
tell  dad  what  you  said,"  she  told  him,  glancing 
back  over  her  shoulder.  When  she  saw  that  he 
had  turned  his  horse  and  was  frankly  following 
her  to  the  house,  her  heart  jumped  wildly  into  her 
throat, — judging  by  the  feel  of  it. 

"  I'm  plumb  out  of  matches.  I  wonder  if  you 
can  let  me  have  some,"  he  said,  still  speaking  too 
carelessly  to  reassure  her.  "  So  you  stuck  it  out 
in  Kock  City  all  through  that  storm!  That's 
more  than  what  I'd  want  to  do." 

She  did  not  answer  that,  but  once  on  the  door- 
step Lorraine  turned  and  faced  him.  Quite  sud- 
denly it  came  to  her — the  knowledge  of  why  she 
did  not  like  this  man.  She  stared  at  him,  her 
eyes  wide  and  bright. 

"  Your  hat's  brown !  "  she  exclaimed  unguard- 
edly. "  I — I  saw  a  man  with  a  brown  hat 

He  laughed  suddenly.     "  If  you  stay  around 


98  THE  QUIRT 

here  long  you'll  see  a  good  many,"  he  said,  taking 
off  his  hat  and  turning  it  on  his  hand  before  her. 
"  This  here  hat  I  traded  for  yesterday.  I  had  a 
gray  one,  but  it  didn't  suit  me.  Too  narrow  in 
the  brim.  Brown  hats  are  getting  to  be  the 
style.  If  I  can  borrow  half  a  dozen  matches, 
Miss  Hunter,  I'll  be  going." 

Lorraine  looked  at  him  again  doubtfully  and 
went  after  the  matches.  He  thanked  her,  smil- 
ing down  at  her  quizzically.  "  A  man  can  get 
along  without  lots  of  things,  but  he's  plumb  lost 
without  matches.  You've  maybe  saved  my  life, 
Miss  Hunter,  if  you  only  knew  it." 

She  watched  him  as  he  rode  away,  opening  the 
gate  and  letting  himself  through  without  dis- 
mounting. He  disappeared  finally  around  a 
small  spur  of  the  hill,  and  Lorraine  found  her 
knees  trembling  under  her. 

"Ket,  you're  an  awful  fool,"  she  exclaimed 
fiercely.  "  Why  did  you  let  me  give  myself  away 
to  that  man?  I — I  believe  he  was  the  man.  And 
if  I  really  did  see  him,  it  wasn't  my  imagination 
at  all.  He  saw  me  there,  perhaps.  Ket,  I'm 
scared !  I'm  not  going  to  stay  on  this  ranch  all 
alone.  I'm  going  to  saddle  the  family  skeleton, 
and  I'm  going  to  ride  till  dark.  There's  some- 


THE  MAN  AT  WHISPER        99 

thing  queer  about  that  man  from  Whisper.  I'm 
afraid  of  him." 

After  awhile,  when  she  had  finished  her  break- 
fast and  was  putting  up  a  lunch,  Lorraine  picked 
up  the  nameless  gray  cat  and  holding  its  head  be- 
tween her  slim  fingers,  looked  at  it  steadily. 
"  Ket,  you're  the  humanest  thing  I've  seen  since 
I  left  home,"  she  said  wistfully.  "  I  hate  a  coun- 
try where  horrible  things  happen  under  the  sur- 
face and  the  top  is  just  gray  and  quiet  and  so  dull 
it  makes  you  want  to  scream.  Lone  Morgan  lied 
to  me.  He  lied — he  lied !  "  She  hugged  the  cat 
impulsively  and  rubbed  her  cheek  absently 
against  it,  so  that  it  began  purring  immediately. 

"  Ket— I'm  afraid  of  that  man  at  Whisper ! " 
she  breathed  miserably  against  its  fur. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  JUST  TO  HANG  ON  " 

BEIT  was  smoking  his  pipe  after  supper  and 
staring  at  nothing,  though  his  face  was 
turned  toward  the  closed  door.  Lorraine  had 
washed  the  dishes  and  was  tidying  the  room  and 
looking  at  her  father  now  and  then  in  a  troubled, 
questioning  way  of  which  Brit  was  quite  oblivi- 
ous. 

"  Dad,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  who  is  the  man  at 
Whisper?  " 

Brit  turned  his  eyes  slowly  to  her  face  as  if  he 
had  not  grasped  her  meaning  and  was  waiting 
for  her  to  repeat  the  question.  It  was  evident 
that  his  thoughts  had  pulled  away  from  some- 
thing that  meant  a  good  deal  to  him. 

"  Why?  " 

"  A  man  came  this  morning,  and  said  he  was 
the  man  at  Whisper,  and  that  he  would  come 
again  to  see  you." 

Brit  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  looked  at  it 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "          101 

and  crowded  down  the  tobacco  with  a  forefinger. 
"  He  seen  me  ride  away  from  the  ranch,  this 
morning,"  he  said.  "  He  was  coming  down  the 
Whisper  trail  as  I  was  taking  the  fork  over  to 
Sugar  Spring,  Frank  and  me.  What  did  he  say 
he  wanted  to  see  me  about?  " 

"  He  didn't,  say.  He  asked  for  you  and  Frank." 
Lorraine  sat  down  and  folded  her  arms  on  the 
oilcloth-covered  table.  "  Dad,  what  is  Whis- 
per? " 

"Whisper's  a  camp  up  against  a  cliff,  over 
west  of  here.  It  belongs  to  the  Sawtooth.  Is 
that  all  he  said?  Just  that  he  wanted  to  see 
me?" 

"  He — talked  a  little,"  Lorraine  admitted,  her 
eyebrows  pulled  down.  "  If  he  saw  you  leave,  I 
shouldn't  think  he'd  come  here  and  ask  for  you." 

"  He  knowed  I  was  gone,"  Brit  stated  briefly. 

With  a  finger  nail  Lorraine  traced  the  ugly, 
brown  pattern  on  the  oilcloth.  It  was  not  easy 
to  talk  to  this  silent  man  who  was  her  father,  but 
she  had  done  a  great  deal  of  thinking  during  that 
long,  empty  day,  and  she  had  reached  the  point 
where  she  was  afraid  not  to  speak. 

"  Dad ! " 

"  What  do  you  want,  Raine?  " 


102  THE  QUIRT 

"  Dad,  was — has  any  one  around  here  died, 
lately?  " 

"  Died?  Nobody  but  Fred  Thurman,  over 
here  on  Granite.  He  was  drug  with  a  horse  and 
killed." 

Lorraine  caught  her  breath,  saw  Brit  looking 
at  her  curiously  and  moved  closer  to  him.  She 
wanted  to  be  near  somebody  just  then,  and  after 
all,  Brit  was  her  father,  and  his  silence  was  not 
the  inertia  of  a  dull  mind,  she  knew.  He  seemed 
bottled-up,  somehow,  and  bitter.  She  caught  his 
hand  and  held  it,  feeling  its  roughness  between 
her  two  soft  palms. 

"  Dad,  I've  got  to  tell  you.  I  feel  trapped, 
somehow.  Did  his  horse  have  a  white  face, 
dad?" 

"  Yes,  he's  a  blaze-faced  roan.  Why?  "  Brit 
moved  uncomfortably,  but  he  did  not  take  his 
hand  away  from  her.  "What  do  you  know  about 
it,  Raine?  " 

"  I  saw  a  man  shoot  Fred  Thurman  and  push 
his  foot  through  the  stirrup.  And,  dad,  I  be- 
lieve it  was  that  man  at  Whisper.  The  one  I  saw 
had  on  a  brown  hat,  and  this  man  wears  a  brown 
hat — and  I  was  advised  not  to  tell  any  one  I  had 
been  at  that  place  they  call  Rock  City,  when  the 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "          103 

storm  came.  Dad,  would  an  innocent  man — one 
that  didn't  nave  anything  to  do  with  a  crime — 
would  he  try  to  cover  it  up  afterwards?  " 

Brit's  hand  shook  when  he  removed  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  His 
face  had  turned  gray  while  Lorraine  watched 
him  fearfully.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
pressing  down  hard — and  at  last  his  eyes  met  her 
big,  searching  ones. 

"  If  he  wanted  tf>  live — in  this  country — he'd 
have  to.  Leastways,  he'd  have  to  keep  his  mouth 
shut,"  he  said  grimly. 

"And  he'd  try  to  shut  the  mouths  of 
others " 

"  If  he  cared  anything  about  them,  he  would. 
You  ain't  told  anybody  what  you  saw,  have 
yuh?" 

Lorraine  hid  her  face  against  his  arm.  "  Just 
Lone  Morgan,  and  he  thought  I  was  crazy  and 
imagined  it.  That  was  in  the  morning,  when  he 
found  me.  And  he — he  wanted  me  to  go  on 
thinking  it  was  just  a  nightmare — that  I'd  im- 
agined the  whole  thing.  And  I  did,  for  awhile. 
But  this  man  at  Whisper  tried  to  find  out  where 
I  was  that  night " 

Brit  pulled  abruptly  away  from  her,  got  up 


104  THE  QUIRT 

and  opened  the  door.  He  stood  there  for  a  time, 
looking  out  into  the  gloom  of  early  nightfall.  He 
seemed  to  be  listening,  Lorraine  thought.  When 
he  came  back  to  her  his  voice  was  lower,  his  man- 
ner intangibly  furtive. 

"  You  didn't  tell  him  anything,  did  you?  "  he 
asked,  as  if  there  had  been  no  pause  in  their  talk. 

"  No — I  made  him  believe  I  wasn't  there.  Or 
I  tried  to.  And  dad!  As  I  was  going  to  cross 
that  creek  just  before  you  coml  to  Bock  City,  two 
men  came  along  on  horseback,  and  I  hid  before 
they  saw  me.  They  stopped  to  water  their  horses, 
and  they  were  talking.  They  said  something 
about  the  TJ  had  been  here  a  long  time,  but 
they  would  get  theirs,  and  it  was  like  sitting  into 
a  poker  game  with  a  nickel.  They  said  the  little 
ones  aren't  big  enough  to  fight  the  Sawtooth,  and 
they'd  carry  lead  under  their  hides  if  they  didn't 
leave.  Dad,  isn't  your  brand  the  TJ?  That's 
what  it  looks  like  on  Yellow  jacket." 

Brit  did  not  answer,  and  when  Lorraine  was 
sure  that  he  did  not  mean  to  do  so,  she  asked  an- 
other question.  "  Dad,  why  didn't  you  want  me 
to  leave  the  ranch  to-day?  I  was  nervous  after 
that  man  was  here,  and  I  did  go." 

"  I  didn't  want  you  riding  around  the  country 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "          105 

unless  I  knew  where  you  went,"  Brit  said.  "  My 
brand  is  the  TJ  up-and-down.  We  never  call  it 
just  the  TJ." 

"  Oh,"  said  Lorraine,  relieved.  "  They  weren't 
talking  about  you,  then.  But  dad — it's  horrible ! 
We  simply  can't  let  that  murder  go  and  not  do 
anything.  Because  I  know  that  man  was  shot. 
I  heard  the  shot  fired,  and  I  saw  him  start  to  fall 
off  his  horse.  And  the  next  flash  of  lightning  I 
saw " 

"  Look  here,  Raine.  I  don't  want  you  talking 
about  what  you  saw.  I  don't  want  you  thinkin* 
about  it.  What's  the  use?  Thurman's  dead  and 
buried.  The  cor'ner  come  and  held  an  inquest, 
and  the  jury  agreed  it  was  an  accident.  I  was 
on  the  jury.  The  sheriff's  took  charge  of  his 
property.  You  couldn't  prove  what  you  saw, 
even  if  you  was  to  try."  He  looked  at  her  very 
much  as  Lone  Morgan  had  looked  at  her.  His 
next  words  were  very  nearly  what  Lone  Morgan 
had  said,  Lorraine  remembered.  "  You  don't 
know  this  country  like  I  know  it.  Folks  live  in 
it  mainly  because  they  don't  go  around  blatting 
everything  they  see  and  hear  and  think." 

"  You  have  laws,  don't  you,  dad?  You  spoke 
about  the  sheriff " 


106  THE  QUIRT 

"  The  sheriff !  "  Brit  laughed  harshly.  "Yes, 
we  got  a  sheriff,  and  we  got  a  jail,  and  a  judge — 
all  the  makin's  of  law.  But  we  ain't  got  one 
thing  that  goes  with  it,  and  that's  justice.  You'd 
best  make  up  your  mind  like  the  cor'ner's  jury 
done,  that  Fred  Thurman  was  drug  to  death  by 
his  horse.  That's  all  that'll  ever  be  proved,  and 
if  you  can't  prove  nothing  else  you  better  keep 
your  mouth  shut." 

Lorraine  sprang  up  and  stood  facing  her  father, 
every  nerve  taut  with  protest.  "  You  don't  mean 
to  tell  me,  dad,  that  you  and  Frank  Johnson  and 
Lone  Morgan  and — everybody  in  the  country  are 
cowards,  do  you?  " 

Brit  looked  at  her  patiently.  "No,"  he  said 
in  the  tone  of  acknowledged  defeat,  "we  ain't 
cowards,  Eaine.  A  man  ain't  a  coward  when  he 
stands  with  his  hands  over  his  head.  Most  gener- 
ally it's  because  some  one's  got  the  drop  on  'im." 

Lorraine  would  not  accept  that.  "  You  think 
so,  because  you  don't  fight,"  she  cried  hotly. 
"  No  one  is  holding  a  gun  at  your  head.  Dad !  I 
thought  Westerners  never  quit.  It's  fight  to  the 
finish,  always.  Why,  I've  seen  one  man  fight  a 
whole  outfit  and  win.  He  couldn't  be  beaten  be- 
cause he  wouldn't  give  up.  Why " 


"IT  TAKES  NERVE"          107 

Brit  gave  her  a  tolerant  glance.  "Where'd 
you  see  all  that,  Kaine?"  He  moved  to  the 
table,  picked  up  his  pipe  and  knocked  out  the 
ashes  on  the  stove  hearth.  His  movements  were 
those  of  an  aging  man, — yet  Brit  Hunter  was  not 
old,  as  age  is  reckoned. 

"  Well — in  stories — but  it  was  reasonable  and 
logical  and  possible,  just  the  same.  If  you  use 
your  brains  you  can  outwit  them,  and  if  you  have 
any  nerve " 

Brit  made  a  sound  somewhat  like  a  snort. 
"  These  days,  when  politics  is  played  by  the  big 
fellows,  and  the  law  is  used  to  make  money  for 
'em,  it  takes  nerve  just  to  hang  on,"  he  said. 
"Nobody  but  a  dang  fool  would  fight."  Slow 
anger  grew  within  him.  He  turned  upon  Lor- 
raine almost  fiercely.  "D'yuh  think  me  and 
Frank  could  fight  the  Sawtooth  and  get  anything 
out  of  it  but  a  coffin  apiece,  maybe?"  he  de- 
manded harshly.  "  Don't  the  Sawtooth  own  this 
country?  War  field's  got  the  sheriff  in  his  pocket, 
and  the  cor'ner,  and  the  judge,  and  the  stock  in- 
spector— he's  Senator  Warfield,  and  what  he 
wants  he  gets.  He  gets  it  through  the  law  that 
you  was  talking  about  a  little  while  ago.  What 
you  goin'  to  do  about  it?  If  I  had  the  money  and 


108  THE  QUIRT 

the  land  and  the  political  pull  he's  got,  mebby  I'd 
have  me  a  sheriff  and  a  judge,  too. 

"Fred  Thurman  tried  to  fight  the  Sawtooth 
over  a  water  right  he  owned  and  they  wanted. 
They  had  the  case  runnin'  in  court  till  they  like 
to  of  took  the  last  dollar  he  had.  He  got  bull- 
headed.  That  water  right  meant  the  hull  ranch — 
everything  he  owned.  You  can't  run  a  ranch 
without  water.  And  when  he'd  took  the  case  up 
and  up  till  it  got  to  the  Supreme  Court,  and  he 
stood  some  show  of  winnin'  out — he  had  an  acci- 
dent. He  was  drug  to  death  by  his  horse." 

Brit  stooped  and  opened  the  stove  door,  seek- 
ing a  live  coal ;  found  none  and  turned  again  to 
Lorraine,  shaking  his  pipe  at  her  for  emphasis. 

"We  try  to  prove  Fred  was  murdered,  and 
what's  the  result?  Something  happens:  to  me, 
mebby,  or  Frank,  or  both  of  us.  And  you  can't 
say,  '  Here,  I  know  the  Sawtooth  had  a  hand  in 
that.'  You  got  to  prove  it!  And  when  you've 
proved  it,"  he  added  bitterly,  "  you  got  to  have 
officers  that'll  carry  out  the  law  instead  of  using 
it  to  hog-tie  yuh." 

His  futile,  dull  anger  surged  up  again.  "  You 
call  us  cowards  because  we  don't  git  up  on  our 
hind  legs  and  fight  the  Sawtooth.  A  lot  you 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "  109 

know  about  courage!  You've  read  stories,  and 
you've  saw  moving  pictures,  and  you  think  that's 
the  West — that's  the  way  they  do  it.  One  man 
hold  off  a  hunderd  with  his  gun — and  on  the 
other  hand,  a  hunderd  men,  mebby,  ridin'  hell- 
whoopin'  after  one.  You  think  that's  it — that's 
the  way  they  do  it.  Hunh !  "  He  lifted  the  lid 
of  the  stove,  spat  into  it  as  if  he  were  spitting  in 
the  face  of  an  enemy,  and  turned  again  to  Lor- 
raine. 

"What  you  seen — what  you  say  you  seen — 
that  was  done  at  night  when  there  wasn't  no  au- 
dience. All  the  fighting  the  Sawtooth  does  is 
done  under  cover.  You  won't  see  none  of  it — 
they  ain't  such  fools.  And  what  us  small  fellers 
do,  we  do  it  quiet,  too.  We  ain't  ridin'  up  and 
down  the  trail,  flourishin'  our  six-shooters  and 
yellin'  to  the  Sawtooth  to  come  on  and  we'll  clean 
'em  up ! " 

t  "  But  you're  fighting  just  the  same,  aren't  you, 
dad  ?  You're  not  letting  them  -  — " 

"We're  makin'  out  to  live  here — and  we've 
been  doin'  it  for  twenty-five  year,"  Brit  told  her, 
with  a  certain  grim  dignity.  "  We've  still  got  a 
few  head  uh  stock  left — enough  to  live  on. 
Playin'  poker  with  a  nickel,  mebby — but  we  man- 


110  THE  QUIRT 

age  to  ante,  every  hand  so  fur."  His  mind  re- 
turned to  the  grisly  thing  Lorraine  had  seen. 

"  We  can't  run  down  the  man  that  got  Fred 
Thurman,  supposin'  he  was  killed,  as  you  say. 
That's  what  the  law  is  paid  to  do.  If  Lone  Mor- 
gan told  you  not  to  talk  about  it,  he  told  you 
right.  He  was  talking  for  your  own  good. 
What  about  Al — the  man  from  Whisper?  You 
didn't  tell  him,  did  you?  " 

His  tone,  the  suppressed  violence  of  his  man- 
ner, frightened  Lorraine.  She  moved  farther 
away  from  him. 

"  I  didn't  tell  him  anything.  He  was  curious 
but — I  only  said  I  knew  him  because  he  was 
wearing  a  brown  hat,  and  the  man  that  shot  Mr. 
Thurman  had  a  brown  hat.  I  didn't  say  all  that. 
I  just  mentioned  the  hat.  And  he  said  there 
were  lots  of  brown  hats  in  the  country.  He  said 
he  had  traded  for  that  one,  just  yesterday.  He 
said  his  own  hat  was  gray." 

Brit  stared  at  her,  his  jaw  sagging  a  little,  his 
eyes  growing  vacant  with  the  thoughts  he  hid 
deep  in  his  mind.  He  slumped  down  into  his 
chair  and  leaned  forward,  his  arms  resting  on  his 
knees,  his  fingers  clasped  loosely.  After  a  little 
he  tilted  his  head  and  looked  up  at  her. 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "          111 

"You  better  go  to  bed,"  lie  told  her  stolidly. 
"  And  if  you're  going  to  live  at  the  Quirt,  Eaine, 
you'll  have  to  learn  to  keep  your  mouth  shut.  I 
ain't  blaming  you — but  you  told  too  much  to  Al 
Woodruff.  Don't  talk  to  him  no  more,  if  he 
comes  here  when  I'm  gone."  He  put  out  a  hand, 
beckoning  her  to  him,  sorry  for  his  harshness. 
Lorraine  went  to  him  and  knelt  beside  him,  slip- 
ping an  arm  around  his  neck  while  she  hid  her 
face  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  won't  be  a  nuisance,  dad — really,  I  won't," 
she  said.  "  I — I  can  shoot  a  gun.  I  never  shot 
one  with  bullets  in,  but  I  could.  And  I  learned 
to  do  lots  of  things  when  I  was  working  in  that 
play  West  I  thought  was  real.  It  isn't  like  I 
thought.  There's  no  picture  stuff  in  the  real 
West,  I  guess;  they  don't  do  things  that  way. 
But — what  I  want  you  to  know  is  that  if  they're 
fighting  you  they'll  have  to  fight  me,  too. 

"I  don't  mean  movie  stuff,  honestly  I  don't. 
I'm  in  this  thing  now,  and  you'll  have  to  count 
me,  same  as  you  count  Jim  and  Sorry.  Won't 
you  please  feel  that  I'm  one  more  in  the  game, 
dad,  and  not  just  another  responsibility?  I'll 
herd  cattle,  or  do  whatever  there  is  to  do.  And 
I'll  keep  my  mouth  shut,  too.  I  can't  stay  here, 


112  THE  QUIRT 

day  after  day,  doing  nothing  but  sweep  and  dust 
two  rooms  and  fry  potatoes  and  bacon  for  you  at 
night.  Dad,  I'll  go  crazy  if  you  don't  let  me  into 
your  life ! 

"  Dad,  if  you  knew  the  stunts  I've  done  in  the 
last  three  years !  It  was  make-believe  West,  but 
I  learned  things  just  the  same."  She  kissed  him 
on  the  unshaven  cheek  nearest  her, — and  thought 
of  the  kisses  she  had  breathed  upon  the  cheeks  of 
story  fathers  with  due  care  for  the  make-up  on 
her  lips.  Just  because  this  was  real,  she  kissed 
him  again  with  the  frank  vigor  of  a  child. 

"  Dad,"  she  said  wheedlingly,  "  I  think  you 
might  scare  up  something  that  I  can  really  ride. 
Yellowjacket  is  safe,  but — but  you  have  real  live 
horses  on  the  ranch,  haven't  you?  You  must  not 
go  judging  me  by  the  palms  and  the  bay  windows 
of  the  Casa  Grande.  That's  where  I've  slept,  the 
last  few  years  when  I  wasn't  off  on  location — but 
it's  just  as  sensible  to  think  I  don't  know  any- 
thing else,  as  it  would  be  for  me  to  think  you 
can't  do  anything  but  skim  milk  and  fry  bacon 
and  make  sour-dough  bread,  just  because  I've 
seen  you  do  it !  " 

Brit  laughed  and  patted  her  awkwardly  on  the 
back.  "  If  you  was  a  boy,  I'd  set  you  up  as  a 


"  IT  TAKES  NERVE  "          113 

lawyer,"  lie  said  with  an  attempt  at  playfulness. 
"  I  kinda  thought  you  could  ride.  I  seen  how 
you  piled  onto  old  Yellowjacket  and  the  way  you 
held  your  reins.  It  runs  in  the  blood,  I  guess. 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do  in  the  way  of  a  horse.  Ole 
Yellowjacket  used  to  be  a  real  rim-rider,  but  he's 
gitting  old;  gitting  old — same  as  me." 

"  You're  not !  You're  just  letting  yourself  feel 
old.  And  am  I  one  of  the  outfit,  dad?  " 

"  I  guess  so — only  there  ain't  going  to  be  any 
of  this  hell-whoopin'  stuff,  Kaine.  You  can't 
travel  these  trails  at  a  long  lope  with  yore  hair 
flyin'  out  behind  and — and  all  that  damn  foolish- 
ness. I've  saw  'em  in  the  movin'  pitchers " 

Lorraine  blushed,  and  was  thankful  that  her 
dad  had  not  watched  her  work  in  that  serial. 
For  that  matter,  she  hoped  that  Lone  Morgan 
would  never  stray  into  a  movie  where  any  of  her 
pictures  were  being  shown. 

"I'm  serious,  dad.  I  don't  want  to  make  a 
show  of  myself.  But  if  you'll  feel  that  I  can  be 
a  help  instead  of  a  handicap,  that's  what  I  want. 
And  if  it  comes  to  fighting " 

Brit  pushed  her  from  him  impatiently. 
"There  yuh  go — fight— fight— and  I  told  yuh 
there  ain't  any  fighting  going  on.  Nothing 


114  THE  QUIRT 

more'n  a  fight  to  hang  on  and  make  a  living. 
That  means  straight,  hard  work  and  mindin' 
your  own  business.  If  you  want  to  help  at 
1 1 1 1 1  r  ~~~~~^ 

"  I  do,"  said  Eaine  quietly,  getting  to  her  feet. 
Her  legacy  of  stubbornness  set  her  lips  firmly  to- 
gether. "  That's  exactly  what  I  mean.  Good 
night,  dad." 

Brit  answered  her  noncommittally,  apparently 
sunk  already  in  his  own  musings.  But  his  lips 
drew  in  to  suppress  a  smile  when  he  saw,  from 
the  corner  of  his  eyes,  that  Lorraine  was  winding 
the  alarm  on  the  cheap  kitchen  clock,  and  that 
she  set  the  hand  carefully  and  took  the  clock 
with  her  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  EVIL  EYE  OF  THE  SAWTOOTH 

OPPRESSION  is  a  growth  that  flourishes 
best  in  the  soil  of  opportunity.  It  seldom 
springs  into  full  power  at  once.  The  Sawtooth 
Cattle  Company  had  begun  much  as  its  neigh- 
bors had  begun :  with  a  tract  of  land,  cattle,  and 
the  ambition  for  prospering.  Senator  Warfield 
had  then  been  plain  Bill  Warfield,  manager  of 
the  outfit,  who  rode  with  his  men  and  saw  how 
his  herds  increased, — saw  too  how  they  might  in- 
crease faster  under  certain  conditions.  At  the 
outset  he  was  not,  perhaps,  more  unscrupulous 
than  some  of  his  neighbors.  True,  if  a  home- 
steader left  his  claim  for  a  longer  time  than  the 
law  allowed  him,  Bill  Warfield  would  choose  one 
of  his  own  men  to  file  a  contest  on  that  claim. 
The  man's  wages  would  be  paid.  Witnesses  were 
never  lacking  to  swear  to  the  improvements  he 
had  made,  and  after  the  patent  had  been  granted 
the  homesteader  (for  the  contestant  always  won, 


116  THE  QUIRT 

in  that  country)  the  Sawtooth  would  pay  him  for 
the  land.  Frequently  a  Sawtooth  man  would 
file  upon  land  before  any  other  man  had  claimed 
it.  Sometimes  a  Sawtooth  man  would  purchase 
a  relinquishment  from  some  poor  devil  of  a  claim- 
holder  who  seemed  always  to  have  bad  luck,  and 
so  became  discouraged  and  ready  to  sell.  An  in- 
telligent man  like  Bill  Warfield  could  acquire 
much  land  in  this  manner,  give  him  time  enough. 

In  much  the  same  manner  his  herds  increased. 
He  bought  out  small  ranchers  who  were  crowded 
to  the  selling  point  in  one  way  or  another.  They 
would  find  themselves  fenced  off  from  water,  the 
Sawtooth  having  acquired  the  water  rights  to 
creek  or  spring.  Or  they  would  be  hemmed  in 
with  fenced  fields  and  would  find  it  next  to  im- 
possible to  make  use  of  the  law  which  gave  them 
the  right  to  "  condemn  "  a  road  through.  They 
would  not  be  openly  assailed, — Bill  Warfield  was 
an  intelligent  man.  A  dozen  brands  were  re- 
corded in  the  name  of  the  Sawtooth  Cattle  Com- 
pany, and  if  a  small  rancher  found  his  calf  crop 
shorter  than  it  should  be,  he  might  think  as  he 
pleased,  but  he  would  have  no  tangible  proof  that 
his  calves  wore  a  Sawtooth  brand. 

Inevitably  it  became  necessary  now  and  then 


THE  EVIL  EYE  117 

to  stop  a  mouth  that  was  ready  to  speak  unwel- 
come truths.  But  if  a  Sawtooth  man  were  known 
to  have  committed  violence,  the  Sawtooth  itself 
was  the  first  to  put  the  sheriff  on  his  trail.  If 
the  man  successfully  dodged  the  sheriff  and  made 
his  way  to  parts  unknown,  the  Sawtooth  could 
shrug  its  shoulders  and  wash  its  hands  of  him. 

Then  whispers  were  heard  that  the  Sawtooth 
had  on  its  pay  roll  men  who  were  paid  to  kill  and 
to  leave  no  trace.  So  many  heedless  ones  crossed 
the  Sawtooth's  path  to  riches!  Fred  Thurman 
had  been  one ;  a  "  bull-headed  cuss  "  who  had  the 
temerity  to  fight  back  when  the  Sawtooth  calmly 
laid  claim  to  the  first  water  rights  to  Granite 
Creek,  having  bought  it,  they  said,  with  the 
placer  claim  of  an  old  miner  who  had  prospected 
along  the  headwaters  of  Granite  at  the  base  of 
Bear  Top. 

By  that  time  the  Sawtooth  had  grown  to  a 
power  no  poor  man  could  hope  to  defeat.  Bill 
Warfield  was  Senator  Warfield,  and  Senator 
Warfield  was  a  power  in  the  political  world  that 
immediately  surrounded  him.  Since  his  neigh- 
boring ranchmen  had  not  been  able  to  prevent  his 
steady  climbing  to  the  position  he  now  held,  they 
had  small  hope  of  pulling  him  down.  Brit  was 


118  THE  QUIRT 

right.  They  did  well  to  hang  on  and  continue 
living  in  that  country. 

An  open  killing,  one  that  would  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  outside  world,  might  be  avenged. 
The  man  who  committed  the  crime  might  be  pun- 
ished,— if  public  opinion  were  sufficiently  massed 
against  him.  In  that  case  Senator  Warfleld 
would  cry  loudest  for  justice.  But  it  would  take 
a  stronger  man  than  the  country  held  to  raise  the 
question  of  Fred  Thurman's  death  and  take  even 
the  first  steps  toward  proving  it  a  murder. 

"  It  ain't  that  they  can  do  anything,  Mr.  War- 
field,"  the  man  from  Whisper  said  guardedly, 
urging  his  horse  close  to  the  machine  that  stood 
in  the  trail  from  Echo.  It  was  broad  day — a 
sun-scorched  day  to  boot — and  Senator  Warfield 
perspired  behind  the  wheel  of  his  car.  "  It's  the 
talk  they  may  get  started." 

"  What  have  they  said?  The  girl  was  at  the 
Taiach  for  several  days.  She  didn't  talk  there,  or 
Mawkins  would  have  told  me." 

•"  She  was  sick.  I  saw  her  the  other  day  at  the 
'Quirt,  and  she  more'n  half  recognized  me.  Hell ! 
How'd  7  know  she  was  in  there  among  them 
rocks?  Everybody  that  was  apt  to  be  riding 
through  was  accounted  for,  and  I  knew  there 


THE  EVIL  EYE  119 

wasn't  any  one  coming  horseback  or  with  a  rig. 
My  hearing's  pretty  good." 

Warneld  moved  the  spark  lever  up  and  down 
on  the  wheel  while  he  thought.  "  Well,"  he  said 
carefully  at  last,  "  if  you're  falling  down  in  your 
work,  what  are  you  whining  about  it  to  me  for? 
What  do  you  want?  " 

Al  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  "I 
want  to  know  how  far  I  can  go.  It's  been  hands 
off  the  Quirt,  up  to  now.  And  the  Quirt's  begin- 
ning to  think  it  can  get  away  with  most  anything. 
They've  throwed  a  fence  across  the  pass  through 
from  Sugar  Spring  to  Whisper.  That  sends  us 
away  around  by  Three  Creek.  You  can't  trail 
stock  across  Granite  Ridge,  nor  them  lava  ledges. 
If  it's  going  to  be  hands  off,  I  want  to  know  it» 
There's  other  places  I'd  rather  live  in,  if  the 
Quirt's  going  to  raise  talk  about  Fred  Thurman." 

Senator  Warfield  pulled  at  his  collar  and  tie  as 
if  they  choked  him.  "  The  Quirt  has  made  no 
trouble,"  he  said.  "  Of  course,  if  they  begin 
throwing  fences  across  our  stock  trails  and 
peddling  gossip,  that  is  another  story.  I  expect 
you  to  protect  our  interests,  of  course.  And  I 
have  never  made  a  practice  of  dictating  to  you. 
In  this  case  " — he  sent  a  sharp  glance  at  Al — "  it 


120  THE  QUIRT 

seems  to  me  your  interests  are  involved  more 
than  ours.  As  to  Fred  Thurman,  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it.  I  was  not  here  when  he  died, 
and  I  have  never  seen  this  girl  of  Brit's  who 
seems  to  worry  you.  She  doesn't  interest  me, 
one  way  or  the  other." 

"  She  seems  to  interest  Bob  a  whole  lot,"  Al 
said  maliciously.  "  He  rode  over  to  see  her  yes- 
terday. She  wasn't  home,  though." 

Senator  Warfield  seemed  unmoved  by  this  bit 
of  news,  wherefore  Al  returned  to  the  main  issue. 

"Do  I  get  a  free  hand,  or  don't  I?"  he  in- 
sisted. "  They  can't  be  let  peddle  talk — not  if 
I  stay  around  here." 

Senator  Warfield  considered  the  matter. 

"  The  girl's  got  the  only  line  on  me,"  Al  went 
on.  "  The  inquest  was  as  clean  as  I  ever  saw. 
Everything  all  straight — and  then,  here  she 
comes  up " 

"  If  you  know  how  to  stop  a  woman's  mouth, 
Al,  you  can  make  a  million  a  month  telling  other 
men."  Senator  Warfield  smiled  at  him.  Then 
he  leaned  across  the  front  seat  and  added  im- 
pressively, "Bear  one  thing  in  mind,  Al.  The 
Sawtooth  cannot  permit  itself  to  become  involved 
in  any  scandal,  nor  in  any  killing  cases.  We're 


THE  EVIL  EYE  121 

just  at  the  most  crucial  point  with,  our  reclama- 
tion project,  over  here  on  the  flat.  The  legis- 
lature is  willing  to  make  an  appropriation  for  the 
building  of  the  canal,  and  in  two  or  three  months 
at  the  latest  we  should  begin  selling  agricultural 
tracts  to  the  public.  The  State  will  also  throw 
open  the  land  it  had  withdrawn  from  settlement, 
pending  the  floating  of  this  canal  project.  More 
than  ever  the  integrity  of  the  Sawtooth  Cattle 
Company  must  be  preserved,  since  it  has  come 
out  openly  as  a  backer  of  the  irrigation  company. 
Nothing — nothing  must  be  permitted  to  stand  in 
the  way." 

He  removed  his  thin  driving  cap  and  wiped 
his  perspiring  forehead.  "I'm  sorry  this  all 
happened — as  it  has  turned  out,"  he  said,  with 
real  regret  in  his  tone.  "  But  since  it  didv  hap- 
pen, I  must  rely  upon  you  to — to — er " 

"  I  guess  I  understand,"  Al  grinned  sardonic- 
ally. "  I  just  wanted  you  to  know  how  things  is 
building  up.  The  Quirt's  kinda  overreached  it- 
self. I  didn't  want  you  comin'  back  on  me  for 
trying  to  keep  their  feet  outa  the  trough.  I  want 
you  to  know  things  is  pretty  damn  ticklish  right 
now,  and  it's  going  to  take  careful  steppin'." 

"  Well,  don't  let  your  foot  slip,  Al,"  Senator 


122  THE  QUIRT 

Warfield  warned  him.  "The  Sawtooth  would 
hate  to  lose  you;  you're  a  good  man." 

"  Oh,  I  get  yuh,"  Al  retorted.  "  My  foot  ain't 

going  to  slip L  If  it  did,  the  Sawtooth  would 

be  the  first  to  pile  onto  my  back !  "  The  last  sen- 
tence was  not  meant  for  the  senator's  ears.  Al 
had  backed  his  horse,  and  Senator  Warfield  was 
stepping  on  the  starter.  But  it  would  not  have 
mattered  greatly  if  he  had  heard,  for  this  was  a 
point  quite  thoroughly  understood  by  them  both.  ' 

The  Warfield  car  went  on,  lurching  over  the 
inequalities  of  the  narrow  road.  Al  shook  his 
horse  into  a  shambling  trot,  picking  his  way  care- 
lessly through  the  scattered  sage. 

His  horse  traveled  easily,  now  and  then  lifting 
a  foot  high  to  avoid  rock  or  exposed  root,  or 
swerving  sharply  around  obstacles  too  high  to 
step  over.  Al  very  seldom  traveled  along  the 
beaten  trails,  though  there  was  nothing  to  deter 
him  now  save  an  inherent  tendency  toward 
secretiveness  of  his  motives,  destinations  and 
whereabouts.  If  the  country  was  open,  you 
would  see  Al  Woodruff  riding  at  some  distance 
from  the  trail — or  you  would  not  see  him  at  all, 
if  there  were  gullies  in  which  he  could  conceal 
himself.  He  was  always  "  line-riding,"  or  hunt- 


THE  EVIL  EYE  123 

ing  stray  stock — horses,  usually — or  striking 
across  to  some  line-cainp  of  the  Sawtooth  on  busi- 
ness which  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  state. 

But  you  will  long  ago  have  guessed  that  he 
was  the  evil  eye  of  the  Sawtooth  Company.  He 
took  no  orders  save  such  general  ones  as  Senator 
Warfield  had  just  given  him.  He  gave  none. 
Whatever  he  did  he  did  alone,  and  he  took  no* 
man  into  his  confidence.  It  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  Senator  Warfield  would  never  have 
known  to  a  certainty  that  Al  was  responsible  for 
Thurman's  death,  if  Al  had  not  been  worried 
over  the  Quirt's  possible  knowledge  of  the  crime 
and  anxious  to  know  just  how  far  his  power 
might  go. 

Ostensibly  he  was  in  charge  of  the  camp  at 
Whisper,  a  place  far  enough  off  the  beaten  trails 
to  free  him  from  chance  visitors.  The  Sawtooth 
kept  many  such  camps  occupied  by  men  whose 
duty  it  was  to  look  after  the  Sawtooth  cattle  that 
grazed  near ;  to  see  that  stock  did  not  "bog  down" 
in  the  tricky  sand  of  the  adjacent  water  holes 
and  die  before  help  came,  and  to  fend  off  any 
encroachments  of  the  smaller  cattle  owners, — 
though  these  were  growing  fewer  year  by  year> 
thanks  to  the  weeding-out  policy  of  the  Sawtooth 


124  ,      THE  QUIRT 

and  the  cunning  activities  of  such,  as  Al  Wood- 
ruff. 

It  may  sound  strange  to  say  that  the  Saw- 
tooth country  had  not  had  a  real  "  killing ';  for 
years,  though  accidental  deaths  had  been  rather 
frequent.  One  man,  for  instance,  had  fallen  over 
a  ledge  and  broken  his  neck,  presumably  while 
drunk.  Another  had  bought  a  few  sticks  of 
dynamite  to  open  up  a  spring  on  his  ranch,  and 
at  tke  inquest  which  followed  the  jury  had  re- 
turned a  verdict  of  "  death  caused  by  being  blown 
up  by  the  accidental  discharge  of  dynamite."  A 
sheepman  was  struck  by  lightning,  according  to 
the  coroner,  and  his  widow  had  been  glad  to  sell 
ranch  and  sheep  very  cheaply  to  the  Sawtooth 
and  return  to  her  relatives  in  Montana.  The 
Sawtooth  had  shipped  the  sheep  within  a  month 
and  turned  the  ranch  into  another  line-camp. 

You  will  see  that  Senator  Warfleld  had  every 
reason  to  be  sincere  when  he  called  Al  Wood- 
ruff a  good  man ;  good  for  the  Sawtooth  interests, 
that  means.  You  will  also  see  that  Brit  Hunter 
had  reasons  for  believing  that  the  business  of 
ranching  in  the  Sawtooth  country  might  be 
classed  as  extra  hazardous,  and  for  saying  that 
it  took  nerve  just  to  hang  on. 


THE  EVIL  EYE  125 

That  is  why  Al  rode  oblivious  to  his  surround- 
ings, meditating  no  doubt  upon  the  best  means 
of  preserving  the  "  integrity  "  of  the  Sawtooth 
and  at  the  same  time  soothing  effectively  the 
ticklishness  of  the  situation  of  which  he  had  com- 
plained. It  was  his  business  to  find  the  best 
means.  It  was  for  just  such  work  that  the  Saw- 
tooth paid  him — secretly,  to  be  sure — better 
wages  than  the  foreman,  Hawkins,  received.  Al 
was  conscientious  and  did  his  best  to  earn  his 
wages ;  not  because  he  particularly  loved  killing 
and  spying  as  a  sport,  but  because  the  Sawtooth 
had  bought  his  loyalty  for  a  price,  and  so  long  as 
he  felt  that  he  was  getting  a  square  deal  from 
them,  he  would  turn  his  hand  against  any  man 
that  stood  in  their  way.  He  was  a  Sawtooth 
man,  and  he  fought  the  enemies  of  the  Sawtooth 
as  matter-of-factly  as  a  soldier  will  fight  for  his 
country.  To  his  unimaginative  mind  there  was 
sufficient  justification  in  that  attitude.  As  for 
the  ease  with  which  he  planned  to  kill  and  cover 
his  killing  under  the  semblance  of  accident,  he 
would  have  said,  if  you  could  make  him  speak  of 
it,  that  he  was  not  squeamish.  They'd  all  have 
to  die  some  day,  anyway. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

ANOTHER  SAWTOOTH  "  ACCIDENT  " 

FBANK  JOHNSON  rose  from  the  breakfast 
table,  shaved  a  splinter  off  the  edge  of  the 
water  bench  for  a  toothpick  and  sharpened  it 
carefully  while  he  looked  at  Brit. 

"You  goin'  after  them  posts,  or  shall  I?"  he 
inquired  glumly,  which,  by  the  way,  was  his 
normal  tone.  "Jim  and  Sorry  oughta  git  the 
post  holes  all  dug  to-day.  One  of  us  better  take 
a  look  through  that  young  stock  in  the  lower 
field,  too,  and  see  if  there's  any  more  sign  uh 
blackleg.  Which  you  ruther  do?  " 

Brit  tilted  his  chair  backward  so  that  he  could 
reach  the  coffeepot  on  the  stove  hearth.  "  I'll 
haul  down  the  posts,"  he  decided  carelessly. 
"  They're  easy  loaded,  and  I  guess  my  back's  as 
good  as  yourn." 

"All  you  got  to  do  is  skid  ?em  down  off'n  the 
bank  onto  the  wagon,"  Frank  said.  "I  wisht 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT "       127 

you'd  go  on  up  where  we  cut  them  last  ones  and 
git  my  sweater,  Brit.  I  musta  left  it  hanging  on 
a  bush  right  close  to  where  I  was  workin'." 

Brit's  grunt  signified  assent,  and  Frank  went 
out.  Jim  and  Sorry,  the  two  unpicturesque  cow- 
boys of  whom  Lorraine  had  complained  to  the 
cat,  had  already  departed  with  pick  and  shovel 
to  their  unromantic  task  of  digging  post  holes. 
Each  carried  a  most  unattractive  lunch  tied  in  a 
flour  sack  behind  the  cantle  of  his  saddle.  Lor- 
raine had  done  her  conscientious  best,  but  with 
lumpy,  sour-dough  bread,  cold  bacon  and  currant 
jelly  of  that  kind  which  is  packed  in  wooden 
kegs,  one  can't  do  much  with  a  cold  lunch.  Lor- 
raine wondered  how  much  worse  it  would  look 
after  it  had  been  tied  on  the  saddle  for  half  a 
day;  wondered  too  what  those  two  silent  ones 
got  out  of  life, — what  they  looked  forward  to, 
what  was  their  final  goal.  For  that  matter  she 
frequently  wondered  what  there  was  in  life  for 
any  of  them,  shut  into  that  deadly  monotony  of 
sagebrush  and  rocks  interspersed  with  little, 
grassy  meadows  where  the  cattle  fed  listlessly. 

Even  the  sinister  undercurrent  of  antagonism 
against  the  Quirt  could  not  whip  her  emotions 
into  feeling  that  she  was  doing  anything  more 


128  THE  QUIRT 

than  live  the  restricted,  sordid  little  life  of  a 
poorly  equipped  ranch.  She  had  ridden  once 
with  Frank  Johnson  to  look  through  a  bunch  of 
cattle,  but  it  had  been  nothing  more  than  a  hot, 
thirsty,  dull  ride,  with  a  wind  that  blew  her  hat 
off  in  spite  of  pins  and  tied  veil,  and  with  a 
companion  who  spoke  only  when  he  was  spoken 
to  and  then  as  briefly  as  possible. 

Her  father  would  not  talk  again  as  he  had 
talked  that  night.  She  had  tried  to  make  him 
tell  her  more  about  the  Sawtooth  and  had  gotten 
nothing  out  of  him.  The  man  from  Whisper, 
whom  Brit  had  spoken  of  as  Al,  had  not  returned. 
Nor  had  the  promised  saddle  horse  materialized. 
The  boys  were  too  busy  to  run  in  any  horses,  her 
father  had  told  her  shortly  when  she  reminded 
him  of  his  promise.  When  the  fence  was  done, 
maybe  he  could  rustle  her  another  horse, — and 
then  he  had  added  that  he  didn't  see  what  ailed 
Yellowjacket,  for  all  the  riding  she  was  likely 
to  do. 

"  Straight  hard  work  and  minding  your  own 
business,"  her  father  had  said,  and  it  seemed  to 
Lorraine  after  three  or  four  days  of  it  that  lie 
had  summed  up  the  life  of  a  cattleman's  daugh- 
ter in  a  masterly  manner  which  ought  to  be 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  "       129 

recorded  among  Famous  Sayings  like  "War  is 
hell "  and  "  Don't  give  up  the  ship." 

On  this  particular  morning  Lorraine's  spirits 
were  at  their  lowest  ebb.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
new  stepfather,  she  would  return  to  the  Casa 
Grande,  she  told  herself  disgustedly.  And  if  it 
were  not  for  the  belief  among  all  her  acquaint- 
ances that  she  was  queening  it  over  the  cattle- 
king's  vast  domain,  she  would  return  and  find 
work  again  in  motion  pictures.  But  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  the  point  of  facing  the  curi- 
osity and  the  petty  gossip  of  the  studios.  She 
would  be  expected  to  explain  satisfactorily  why 
she  had  left  the  real  West  for  the  mimic  West  of 
Hollywood.  She  did  not  acknowledge  to  herself 
that  she  also  could  not  face  the  admission  of  fail- 
ure to  carry  out  what  she  had  begun. 

She  had  told  her  dad  that  she  wanted  to  fight 
with  him,  even  though  "  fighting "  in  this  case 
meant  washing  the  coarse  clothing  of  her  father 
and  Frank,  scrubbing  the  rough,  warped  boards 
of  the  cabin  floor,  and  frying  ranch-cured  bacon 
for  every  meal,  and  in  making  butter  to  sell,  and 
counting  the  eggs  every  night  and  being  careful 
to  use  only  the  cracked  ones  for  cooking. 

She  hated  every  detail  of  this  crude  house- 


130  THE  QUIRT 

keeping,  from  the  chipped  enamel  dishpan  to  the 
broom  that  was  all  one-sided,  and  the  pillow  slips 
which  were  nothing  more  nor  less  than  sugar 
sacks.  She  hated  it  even  more  than  she  had 
hated  the  Casa  Grande  and  her  mother's  frowsy 
mentality.  But  because  she  could  see  that  she 
made  life  a  little  more  comfortable  for  her  dad, 
because  she  felt  that  he  needed  her,  she  would 
stay  and  assure  herself  over  and  over  that  she 
was  staying  merely  because  she  was  too  proud  to 
go  back  to  the  old  life  and  own  the  West  a  failure. 
She  was  sweeping  the  doorstep  with  the  one- 
sided broom  when  Brit  drove  out  through  the 
gate  and  up  the  trail  which  she  knew  led  eventu- 
ally to  Sugar  Spring.  The  horses,  sleek  in  their 
new  hair  and  skittish  with  the  change  from  hay 
to  new  grass,  danced  over  the  rough  ground  so 
that  the  running  gear  of  the  wagon,  with  its 
looped  log-chain,  which  would  later  do  duty  as 
a  brake  on  the  long  grade  down  from  timber  line 
on  the  side  of  Spirit  Canyon,  rattled  and  banged 
over  the  rocks  with  a  clatter  that  could  be  heard 
for  half  a  mile.  Lorraine  looked  after  her  father 
enviously.  If  she  were  a  boy  she  would  be  rid- 
ing on  that  sack  of  hay  tied  to  the  "  hounds  "  for 
a  seat.  But,  being  a  girl,  it  had  never  occurred 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  '       131 

to  Brit  that  she  might  like  to  go, — might  even  be 
useful  to  him  on  the  trip. 

"  I  suppose  if  I  told  dad  I  could  drive  that 
team  as  well  as  he  can,  he'd  just  look  at  me  and 
think  I  was  crazy,"  she  thought  resentfully  and 
gave  the  broom  a  spiteful  fling  toward  a  pre- 
sumptuous hen  that  had  approached  too  closely. 
"  If  I'd  asked  him  to  let  me  go  along  he'd  have 
made  some  excuse — oh,  I'm  beginning  to  know 
dad!  He  thinks  a  woman's  place  is  in  the 
house — preferably  the  kitchen.  And  here  I've 
thought  all  my  life  that  cowgirls  did  nothing  but 
ride  around  and  warn  people  about  stage  holdups 
and  everything!  I'd  just  like  to  know  how  a 
girl  would  ever  have  a  chance  to  know  what  was 
going  on  in  the  country,  unless  she  heard  the  men 
talking  while  she  poured  their  coffee.  Only  this 
bunch  don't  talk  at  all.  They  just  gobble 
and  go." 

She  went  in  then  and  shut  the  door  with  a 
slam.  Up  on  the  ridge  Al  Woodruff  lowered  his 
small  binocular  and  eased  away  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  been  crouching  behind  a  bush. 
Every  one  on  the  Quirt  ranch  was  accounted  for. 
As  well  as  if  he  had  sat  at  their  breakfast  table 
Al  knew  where  each  man's  work  would  take  him 


132  THE  QUIRT 

that  day.  As  for  the  girl,  she  was  safe  at  the 
ranch  for  the  day,  probably.  If  she  did  take  a 
ride  later  on,  it  would  probably  be  up  the  ridge 
between  the  Quirt  and  Thurman's  ranch,  and  sit 
for  an  hour  or  so  just  looking.  That  ride  was 
beginning  to  be  a  habit  of  hers,  Al  had  observed, 
so  that  he  considered  her  accounted  for  also. 

He  made  his  way  along  the  side  hill  to  where 
his  horse  was  tied  to  a  bush,  mounted  and  rode 
away  with  his  mind  pretty  much  at  ease.  Much 
more  at  ease  than  it  would  have  been  had  he  read 
what  was  in  Lorraine's  mind  when  she  slammed 
that  door. 

Up  above  Sugar  Spring  was  timber.  By  ap- 
plying to  the  nearest  Forest  Supervisor  a  certain 
amount  could  be  had  for  ranch  improvements 
upon  paying  a  small  sum  for  the  "  stumpage." 
The  Quirt  had  permission  to  cut  posts  for  their 
new  fence  which  Al  Woodruff  had  reported  to 
his  boss. 

As  he  drove  up  the  trail,  which  was  in  places 
barely  passable  for  a  wagon,  Brit  was  thinking 
of  that  fence.  The  Sawtooth  would  object  to  it, 
he  knew,  since  it  cut  off  one  of  their  stock  trails 
and  sent  them  around  through  rougher  country. 
Just  what  form  their  objection  would  take,  Brit 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  '       133 

did  not  know.  Deep  in  his  intrepid  soul  he  hoped 
that  the  Sawtooth  would  at  last  show  its  hand 
openly.  He  had  liked  Fred  Thurman,  and  what 
Lorraine  had  told  him  went  much  deeper  than 
she  knew.  He  wanted  to  bring  them  into  the 
open  where  he  could  fight  with  some  show  of 
winning. 

"  I'll  git  Bill  Warfield  yet— and  git  him  right," 
was  the  gist  of  his  musings.  "  He's  bound  to 
show  his  head,  give  him  time  enough.  Him  and 
his  killers  can't  always  keep  under  cover.  Let 
'em  come  at  me  about  that  fence!  It's  on  my 
land — the  Quirt's  got  a  right  to  fence  every  foot 
of  land  that  belongs  to  'em." 

All  the  way  over  the  ridge  and  across  the  flat 
and  up  the  steep,  narrow  road  along  the  edge  of 
Spirit  Canyon,  Brit  dwelt  upon  the  probable 
moves  of  the  Sawtooth.  They  would  wait,  he 
thought,  until  the  fence  was  completed  and  they 
had  made  a  trail  around  through  the  lava  rocks. 
They  would  not  risk  any  move  at  present;  they 
would  wait  and  tacitly  accept  the  fence,  or  pre- 
tend to  accept  it,  as  a  natural  inconvenience. 
But  Brit  did  not  deceive  himself  that  they  would 
remain  passive.  That  it  had  been  "  hands  off  the 
Quirt"  he  did  not  know,  but  attributed  the 


134  THE  QUIRT 

Quirt's  immunity  to  careful  habits  and  the  fact 
that  they  had  never  come  to  the  point  where  their 
interests  actually  clashed  with  the  Sawtooth. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  therefore  that  he  was 
slated  for  an  accident  that  day  if  the  details 
could  be  conveniently  arranged. 

It  was  a  long  trail  to  Sugar  Spring,  and  from 
there  up  Spirit  Canyon  the  climb  was  so  tedious 
and  steep  that  Brit  took  a  full  hour  for  the  trip, 
resting  the  team  often  because  they  were  soft 
from  the  new  grass  diet  and  sweated  easily.  They 
lost  none  of  their  spirit,  however,  and  when  the 
road  was  steepest  nagged  at  each  other  with  head- 
shakings  and  bared  teeth,  and  ducked  against 
each  other  in  pretended  fright  at  every  unusual 
rock  or  bush. 

At  the  top  he  was  forced  to  drive  a  full  half 
mile  beyond  the  piled  posts  to  a  flat  large  enough 
to  turn  around.  All  this  took  time,  especially 
since  Caroline,  the  brown  mare,  would  rather 
travel  ten  miles  straight  ahead  than  go  backward 
ten  feet.  Brit  was  obliged  to  "take  it  out  of 
her  "  with  the  rein  ends  and  his  full  repertoire 
of  opprobrious  epithets  before  he  could  cramp 
the  wagon  and  head  them  down  the  trail  again. 

At  the  post  pile  he  unhitched  the  team  for 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT '       135 

safety's  sake  and  tied  them  to  trees,  where  he 
fed  them  a  little  grain  in  nose  bags.  He  was 
absorbed  now  in  his  work  and  thought  no  more 
about  the  Sawtooth.  He  fastened  the  log  chain 
to  the  rear  wheels  to  brake  the  wagon  on  the  long 
grade  down  the  canyon,  loaded  the  wagon  with 
posts,  bound  them  fast  with  a  lighter  chain  he 
had  brought  for  the  purpose,  ate  his  own  lunch 
and  decided  that,  since  he  had  made  fair  time  and 
would  arrive  home  too  early  to  do  the  chores  and 
too  late  to  start  any  other  job,  he  would  cruise 
farther  up  the  mountain  side  and  see  what  was 
the  prospect  of  getting  out  logs  enough  for  an 
addition  to  the  cabin. 

Now  that  Raine  was  going  to  live  with  him, 
two  rooms  were  not  enough.  Brit  wanted  to 
make  her  as  happy  as  he  could,  in  his  limited 
fashion.  He  had  for  some  days  been  planning 
a  "  settin'  room  and  bedroom "  for  her.  She 
would  be  having  beaux  after  awhile  when  she 
got  acquainted,  he  supposed.  He  could  not  deny 
her  the  privilege ;  she  was  young  and  she  was,  in 
Brit's  opinion,  the  best  looking  girl  he  had  ever 
seen,  not  even  excepting  Minnie,  her  mother. 
But  he  hoped  she  wouldn't  go  off  and  get  mar- 
ried the  first  thing  she  did, — and  one  good  way 


136  THE  QUIRT 

-to  prevent  that,  lie  reasoned,  was  to  make  her 
H  comfortable  with  him.  He  had  noticed  how 
pleased  •  she  was  that  their  cabin  was  of  logs.  She 
had  even  remarked  that  she  could  not  understand 
how  a  rancher  would  ever  want  to  build  a  board 
shack  if  there  was  any  timber  to  be  had.  Well, 
timber  was  to  be  had,  and  she  should  have  her 
log  house,  though  the  hauling  was  not  going  to 
,be  any  sunshine,  in  Brit's  opinion.  With  his 
.axe  he  walked  through  the  timber,  craning  up- 
ward for  straight  tree  trunks  and  lightly  blazing 
'the  ones  he  would  want,  the  occasional  axe 
strokes  sounding  distinctly  in  the  quiet  air. 

Lorraine  heard  them  as  she  rode  old  Yellow- 
jacket  puffing  up  the  grade,  following  the  wagon 
marks,  and  knew  that  she  was  nearing  the  end  of 
her  journey, — for  which  Yellowjacket,  she  sup- 
posed, would  be  thankful.  She  had  started  not 
more  than  an  hour  later  than  her  father,  but  the 
team  had  trotted  along  more  briskly  than  her 
poor  old  nag  would  travel,  so  that  she  did  not 
•overtake  her  dad  as  she  had  hoped. 

She  was  topping  the  last  climb  when  she'  saw 
the  team  tied  to  the  trees,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  who  crawled 
from  under  the  load  of  posts  and  climbed  the 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  '       1ST 

slope  farther  on.  She  was  on  the  point  of  call- 
ing out  to  him,  thinking  that  he  was  her  dad,, 
when  he  disappeared  into  the  brush.  At  the  same* 
moment  she  heard  the  stroke  of  an  axe  over  to 
the  right  of  where  the  man  was  climbing. 

She  was  riding  past  the  team  when  Caroline* 
humped  her  back  and  kicked  viciously  at  Yellow- 
jacket,  who  plunged  straight  down  off  the  trail 
without  waiting  to  see  whether  Caroline's  aim 
was  exact.  He  slid  into  a  juniper  thicket  and 
sat  down  looking  very  perplexed  and  very  per- 
manently placed  there.  Lorraine  stepped  off  on 
the  uphill  side  of  him,  thanked  her  lucky  stars 
she  had  not  broken  a  leg,  and  tried  to  reassure 
Yellqwjacket  and  to  persuade  him  that  no  real 
harm  had  been  done  him.  Straightway  she  dis- 
covered that  Yellow  jacket  had  a  mind  of  his  own 
and  that  a  pessimistic  mind.  He  refused  to 
scramble  back  into  the  trail,  preferring  to  sit 
where  he  was,  or  since  Lorraine  made  that  too 
uncomfortable,  to  stand  where  he  had  been 
sitting.  Yellowjacket,  I  may  explain,  owned  a 
Roman  nose,  a  pendulous  lower  lip  and  drooping 
eyelids.  Those  who  know  horses  will  under- 
stand. 

By  the  time  Lorraine  had  bullied  and  cajoled 


138  THE  QUIRT 

him  into  making  a  somewhat  circuitous  route  to 
the  road,  where  he  finally  appeared  some  dis- 
tance above  the  point  of  his  descent,  Brit  was 
there,  hitching  the  team  to  the  wagon. 

"  What  yuh  doing  up  there?  "  he  wanted  to 
know,  looking  up  with  some  astonishment. 

Lorraine  furnished  him  with  details  and  her 
^opinion  of  both  Caroline  and  Yellow  jacket.  "  I 
simply  refuse  to  ride  this  comedy  animal  another 
mile,"  she  declared  with  some  heat.  "  I'll  drive 
<the  team  and  you  can  ride  him  home,  or  he  can  be 
tied  on  behind  the  wagon." 

"  He  -won't  lead,"  Brit  objected.  "  Teller's  all 
Bright  if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  a  few  failin's. 
You  go  ahead  and  ride  him  home.  You  sure 
•can't  drive  this  team." 

"  I  can !  "  Lorraine  contended.  "  I've  driven 
four  horses — I  guess  I  can  drive  two,  all  right." 

"Well,  you  ain't  going  to,"  Brit  stated  with 
«,  flat  finality  that  abruptly  ended  the  argument. 

Lorraine  had  never  before  been  really  angry 
Xvith  her  father.  She  struck  Yellowjacket  with 
her  quirt  and  sent  him  sidling  past  the  wagon 
and  the  tricky  Caroline,  too  stubborn  to  answer 
her  dad  when  he  called  after  her  that  she  had 
better  ride  behind  the  load.  She  went  on,  mak- 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  "       139 

ing  Yellowjacket  trot  when  lie  did  not  want  to 
trot  down  hill. 

Behind  her  she  heard  the  chuck-chuck  of  the 
loaded  wagon.  Far  ahead  she  heard  some  one 
whistling  a  high,  sweet  melody  which  had  the 
queer,  minor  strains  of  some  old  folk  song.  For 
just  a  few  bars  she  heard  it,  and  then  it  was 
stilled,  and  the  road  dipping  steeply  before  her 
seemed  very  lonely,  its  emptiness  cooling  her 
brief  anger  to  a  depression  that  had  held  her  too 
often  in  its  grip  since  that  terrible  night  of  the 
storm.  For  the  first  time  she  looked  back  at  her 
father  lurching  along  on  the  load  and  at  the 
team  looking  so  funny  with  the  collars  pushed 
up  on  their  necks  with  the  weight  of  the  load 
behind. 

With  a  quick  impulse  of  penitence  she  waved 
her  hand  to  Brit,  who  waved  back  at  her.  Then 
she  went  on,  feeling  a  bit  less  alone  in  the  world. 
After  all,  he  was  her  dad,  and  his  life  had  been 
hard.  If  he  failed  to  understand  her  and  her 
mental  hunger  for  real  companionship,  perhaps 
she  also  failed  to  understand  him. 

They  had  left  the  timber  line  now  and  had 
come  to  the  lip  of  the  canyon  itself.  Lorraine 
looked  down  its  steep,  rock-roughened  sides  and 


140  THE  QUIRT 

thought  how  her  old  director  would  have  raved 
over  its  possibilities  in  the  way  of  "  stunts." 
Yellowjacket,  she  noticed,  kept  circumspectly  to 
the  center  of  the  trail  and  eyed  the  canyon  with 
frank  disfavor. 

She  did  not  know  at  just  what  moment  she  be- 
came aware  of  trouble  behind  her.  It  may  have 
been  Yellowjacket,  turning  his  head  sidewise  and 
abruptly  quickening  his  pace  that  warned  her. 
It  may  have  been  the  difference  in  the  sound  of 
the  wagon  and  the  impact  of  the  horses'  hoofs  on 
the  rocky  trail.  She  turned  and  saw  that  some- 
thing had  gone  wrong.  They  were  coming  down 
upon  her  at  a  sharp  trot,  stepping  high,  the 
wagon  tongue  thrust  up  between  their  heads  as 
they  tried  to  hold  back  the  load. 

Brit  yelled  to  her  then  to  get  out  of  the  way, 
and  his  voice  was  harsh  and  insistent.  Lorraine 
looked  at  the  steep  bank  to  the  right,  knew  in- 
stinctively that  Yellowjacket  would  never  have 
time  to  climb  it  before  the  team  was  upon  them, 
and  urged  him  to  a  lope.  She  glanced  back 
again,  saw  that  the  team  was  not  running  away, 
that  they  were  trying  to  hold  the  wagon,  and 
that  it  was  gaining  momentum  in  spite  of 
them. 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  "       141 

"  Jump,  dad !  "  she  called  and  got  no  answer. 
Brit  was  sitting  braced  with,  his  feet  far  apart, 
holding  and  guiding  the  team.  "He  won't 
jump — he  wouldn't  jump — any  more  than  I 
would,"  she  chattered  to  herself,  sick  with  fear 
for  him,  while  she  lashed  her  own  horse  to  keep 
out  of  their  way. 

The  next  she  knew,  the  team  was  running,  their 
eyeballs  staring,  their  front  feet  flung  high  as 
they  lunged  panic-stricken  down  the  trail.  The 
load  was  rocking  along  behind  them.  Brit  was 
still  braced  and  clinging  to  the  reins. 

Panic  seized  Yellowjacket.  He,  too,  went 
lunging  down  that  trail,  his  head  thrown  from 
side  to  side  that  he  might  watch  the  thing  that 
menaced  him,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  danger 
might  lie  ahead  of  him  also.  Lorraine  knew  that 
he  was  running  senselessly,  that  he  might  leave 
the  trail  at  any  bend  and  go  rolling  into  the 
canyon. 

A  sense  of  unreality  seized  her.  It  could  not 
be  deadly  earnest,  she  thought.  It  was  so  ex- 
actly like  some  movie  thrill,  planned  carefully 
in  advance,  rehearsed  perhaps  under  the  critical 
eye  of  the  director,  and  done  now  with  the  camera 
man  turning  calmly  the  little  crank  and  counting 


142  THE  QUIRT 

the  number  of  film  feet  the  scene  would  take.  A 
little  farther  and  she  would  be  out  of  the  scene, 
and  men  stationed  ahead  would  ride  up  and  stop 
her  horse  for  her  and  tell  her  how  well  she  had 
"  put  it  over." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  saw  them 
still  coming.  It  was  real.  It  was  terribly  real, 
the  way  that  team  was  fleeing  down  the  grade. 
She  had  never  seen  anything  like  that  before, 
never  seen  horses  so  frantically  trying  to  run 
from  the  swaying  load  behind  them.  Always, 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  moderation  in  the 
pace  and  a  slowed  camera  to  speed  up  the  action 
on  the  screen.  Yellowjacket,  too — she  had  never 
ridden  at  that  terrific  speed  down  hill.  Twice 
she  lost  a  stirrup  and  grabbed  the  saddle  horn  to 
save  herself  from  going  over  his  head. 

They  neared  a  sharp  turn,  and  it  took  all  her 
strength  to  pull  her  horse  to  the  inside  and  save 
him  from  plunging  off  down  the  canyon's  side. 
The  nose  of  the  hill  hid  for  a  moment  her  dad, 
and  in  that  moment  she  heard  a  crash  and  knew 
what  had  happened.  But  she  could  not  stop; 
Yellowjacket  had  his  ears  laid  back  flat  on  his 
senseless  head,  and  the  bit  clamped  tight  in  his 
teeth. 


ANOTHER  "  ACCIDENT  "       143 

She  heard  the  crash  repeated  in  diminuendo 
farther  down  in  the  canyon.  There  was  no 
longer  the  rattle  of  the  wagon  coming  down  the 
trail,  the  sharp  staccato  of  pounding  hoofs. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

SWAN  TALKS  WITH  HIS  THOUGHTS 

LORRAINE,  following  instinct  rather  than 
thought,  pulled  Yellowjacket  into  the  first 
opening  that  presented  itself.  This  was  a  nar- 
row, rather  precipitous  gully  that  seamed  the 
slope  just  beyond  the  bend.  The  bushes  there 
whipped  her  head  and  shoulders  cruelly  as  the 
horse  forged  in  among  them,  but  they  trapped 
him  effectually  where  the  gully  narrowed  to  a 
point.  He  stopped  perforce,  and  Lorraine  was 
out  of  the  saddle  and  running  down  to  the  trail 
before  she  quite  realized  what  she  was  doing. 

At  the  bend  she  looked  down,  saw  the  marks 
where  the  wagon  had  gone  over,  scraping  rocks 
and  bushes  from  its  path.  Fence  posts  were 
strewn  at  all  angles  down  the  incline,  and  far 
down  a  horse  was  standing  with  part  of  the 
harness  on  him  and  with  his  head  drooping 
dispiritedly.  Her  father  she  could  not  see,  nor 
the  other  horse,  nor  the  wagon.  A  clump  of 


SWAN  TALKS  145 

young  trees  hid  the  lower  declivity.  Lorraine 
did  not  stop  to  think  of  what  she  would  find  down 
there.  Sliding,  running,  she  followed  the  traces 
of  the  wreck  to  where  the  horse  was  standing. 
It  was  Caroline,  looking  very  dejected  but  ap- 
parently unhurt,  save  for  skinned  patches  here 
and  there  where  she  had  rolled  over  rocks. 

A  little  farther,  just  beyond  the  point  of  the 
grove  which  they  seemed  to  have  missed  alto- 
gether, lay  the  other  horse  and  what  was  left  of 
the  wagon.  Brit  she  did  not  see  at  all.  She 
searched  the  bushes,  looked  under  the  wagon,  and 
called  and  called. 

A  full-voiced  shout  answered  her  from  farther 
up  the  canyon,  and  she  ran  stumbling  toward  the 
sound,  too  agonized  to  shed  tears  or  to  think  very 
clearly.  It  was  not  her  father's  voice ;  she  knew 
that  beyond  all  doubt.  It  was  no  voice  that  she 
had  ever  heard  before.  It  had  a  clear  resonance 
that  once  heard  would  not  have  been  easily  for- 
gotten. When  she  saw  them  finally,  her  father 
was  being  propped  up  in  a  half-sitting  position, 
and  the  strange  man  was  holding  something  to 
his  lips. 

"  Just  a  little  water.  I  carry  me  a  bottle  of 
water  always  in  my  pocket,"  said  Swan,  glancing 


146  THE  QUIRT 

up  at  her  when  she  had  reached  them.  "It 
sometimes  makes  a  man's  head  think  better  when 
he  has  been  hurt,  if  he  can  drink  a  little  water 
or  something." 

Brit  swallowed  and  turned  his  face  away  from 
the  tilted  bottle.  "  I  jumped — but  I  didn't  jump 
quick  enough,"  he  muttered  thickly.  "The  chain 
pulled  loose.  Where's  the  horses,  Eaine?  " 

"  They're  all  right.  Caroline's  standing  over 
there.  Are  you  hurt  much,  dad?"  It  was  a 
futile  question,  because  Brit  was  already  going 
off  into  unconsciousness. 

"He's  hurt  pretty  bad,"  Swan  declared  hon- 
estly, looking  up  at  her  with  his  eyes  grown 
serious.  "  I  was  across  the  walley  and  I  saw 
him  coming  down  the  road  like  rolling  rocks 
down  a  hill.  I  came  quick.  Now  we  make 
stretcher,  I  think,  and  carry  him  home.  I  could 
take  him  on  my  back,  but  that  is  hurting  him  too 
much."  He  looked  at  her — through  her,  it 
seemed  to  Lorraine.  In  spite  of  her  fear,  in 
spite  of  her  grief,  she  felt  that  Swan  was  read- 
ing her  very  soul,  and  she  backed  away  from 
him. 

"  I  could  help  your  father  very  much,"  he  said 
soberly,  "but  I  should  tell  you  a  secret  if  I  do 


SWAN  TALKS  147 

that.  I  should  maybe  ask  that  you  tell  a  lie  if 
somebody  asks  questions.  Could  you  do  that, 
Miss?  " 

"Lie?"  Lorraine  laughed  uncertainly.  "I'd 
kill! — if  that  would  help  dad." 

Swan  was  folding  his  coat  very  carefully  and 
placing  it  under  Brit's  head.  "My  mother  I 
love  like  that,"  he  said,  without  looking  up. 
"  My  mother  I  love  so  well  that  I  talk  with  my 
thoughts  to  her  sometimes.  You  believe  people 
can  talk  with  their  thoughts?  " 

"I  don't  know — what's  that  got  to  do  with 
helping  dad?"  Lorraine  knelt  beside  Brit  and 
began  stroking  his  forehead  softly,  as  is  the 
soothing  way  of  women  with  their  sick. 

"  I  could  send  my  thought  to  my  mother.  I 
could  say  to  her  that  a  man  is  hurt  and  that  a 
doctor  must  come  very  quickly  to  the  Quirt 
ranch.  I  could  do  that,  Miss,  but  I  should  not 
like  it  if  people  knew  that  I  did  it.  They  would 
maybe  say  that  I  am  crazy.  They  would  laugh 
at  me,  and  it  is  not  right  to  laugh  at  those 
things." 

"I'm  not  laughing.  If  you  can  do  it,  for 
heaven's  sake  go  ahead!  I  don't  believe  it,  but 
I  won't  tell  any  one,  if  that's  what  you  want." 


148  THE  QUIRT 

"  If  some  neighbors  should  ask,  '  How  did  that 
doctor  come  so  quick?  ' " 

"  I'd  rather  lie  and  say  I  sent  for  him,  than  say 
that  you  or  any  one  else  sent  a  telepathic  mes- 
sage. That  would  sound  more  like  a  lie  than 
a  lie  would.  How  are  we  going  to  make  a 
stretcher?  We've  got  to  get  him  home,  some- 
how   " 

"At  my  cabin  is  blankets,"  Swan  told  her 
briskly.  "  I  can  climb  the  hill — it  is  up  there. 
In  a  little  while  I  will  come  back." 

He  started  off  without  waiting  to  see  what 
Lorraine  would  have  to  say  about  it,  and  with 
some  misgivings  she  watched  him  run  down  to 
the  canyon's  bottom  and  go  forging  up  the  op- 
posite side  with  a  most  amazing  speed  and  cer- 
tainty. In  travel  pictures  she  had  seen  mountain 
sheep  climb  like  that,  and  she  likened  him  now 
to  one  of  them.  It  seemed  a  shame  that  he  was 
a  bit  crazy,  she  thought;  and  immediately  she 
recalled  his  perfect  assurance  when  he  told  her 
of  sending  thought  messages  to  his  mother.  She 
had  heard  of  such  things,  she  had  even  read  a 
little  on  the  subject,  but  it  had  never  seemed  to 
her  a  practical  means  of  communicating.  Call- 
ing a  doctor,  for  instance,  seemed  to  -Lorraine 


SWAN  TALKS  149 

rather  far-fetched  an  application  of  what  was  at 
best  but  a  debatable  theory. 

Considering  the  distance,  he  was  back  in  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time  with  two  blankets,  a  couple 
of  light  poles  and  a  flask  of  brandy.  He  seemed 
as  fresh  and  unwinded  as  if  he  had  gone  no  far- 
ther than  the  grove,  and  he  wore,  more  than  ever, 
his  air  of  cheerful  assurance. 

"  The  doctor  will  be  there,"  he  remarked,  just 
as  if  it  were  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
"  We  can  carry  him  to  Fred  Thurman's.  There 
I  can  get  horses  and  a  wagon,  and  you  will  not 
have  to  carry  so  far.  And  when  we  get  to  your 
ranch  the  doctor  will  be  there,  I  think.  He  is 
starting  now.  We  will  hurry.  I  will  fix  it  so 
you  need  not  carry  much.  It  is  just  to  make  it 
steady  for  me." 

While  he  talked  he  was  working  on  the 
stretcher.  He  had  a  rope,  and  he  was  knotting 
it  in  a  long  loop  to  the  poles.  Lorraine  wondered 
why,  until  he  had  lifted  her  father  and  placed 
him  on  the  stretcher  and  placed  the  loop  over 
his  own  head  and  under  one  arm,  as  a  plough- 
man holds  the  reins,  so  that  his  hands  may  be 
free. 

"If  you  will  carry  the  front,"  said   Swan 


150  THE  QUIRT 

politely,  "  it  will  not  be  heavy  for  you  like  this. 
But  you  will  help  me  keep  it  steady." 

Lorraine  was  past  discussing  anything.  She 
obeyed  him  silently,  lifting  the  end  of  the 
stretcher  and  leading  the  way  down  to  the 
canyon's  bottom,  where  Swan  assured  her  they 
could  walk  quite  easily  and  would  save  many 
detours  which  the  road  above  must  take.  At  the 
bottom  Swan  stopped  her  so  that  he  might 
shorten  the  rope  and  take  more  of  the  weight  on 
his  shoulders.  She  protested  half-heartedly,  but 
Swan  only  laughed. 

"  I  am  strong  like  a  mule,"  he  said.  "  You 
should  see  me  wrestle  with  somebody.  Clear 
over  my  head — I  can  carry  a  man  in  my  hands. 
This  is  so  you  can  walk  fast.  Three  miles 
straight  down  we  come  to  Thurman's  ranch, 
where  I  get  the  horses.  It's  funny  how  hills 
make  a  road  far  around.  Just  three  miles — 
that's  all.  I  have  walked  many  times." 

Lorraine  did  not  answer  him.  She  felt  that 
he  was  talking  merely  to  keep  her  from  worry- 
ing, and  she  was  fairly  sick  with  anxiety  and  did 
not  hear  half  of  what  he  was  saying.  She  was 
nervously  careful  about  choosing  her  steps  so 
that  she  would  not  stumble  and  jolt  her  father. 


SWAN  TALKS  151 

She  did  not  believe  that  lie  was  wholly  uncon- 
scious, for  she  had  seen  his  eyelids  tighten  and 
his  lips  twitch  several  times,  when  she  was  wait- 
ing for  Swan.  He  had  seemed  to  be  in  pain  and 
to  be  trying  to  hide  the  fact  from  her.  She  felt 
that  Swan  knew  it,  else  he  would  have  talked  of 
her  dad,  would  at  least  have  tried  to  reassure  her. 
But  it  is  difficult  to  speak  of  a  person  who  hears 
what  you  are  saying,  and  Swan  was  talking  of 
everything,  it  seemed  to  her,  except  the  man  they 
were  carrying. 

She  wondered  if  it  were  really  true  that  Swan 
had  sent  a  call  through  space  for  a  doctor; 
straightway  she  would  call  herself  crazy  for  even 
considering  for  a  moment  its  possibility.  If  he 
could  do  that — but  of  course  fee  couldn't.  He 
must  just  imagine  it. 

Many  times  Swan  had  her  lower  the  stretcher 
to  the  ground,  and  would  make  a  great  show 
of  rubbing  his  arms  and  easing  his  shoulder 
muscles.  Whenever  Lorraine  looked  full  into 
his  face  he  would  grin  at  her  as  though  noth- 
ing was  wrong,  and  when  they  came  to  a  clear- 
running  stream  he  emptied  the  water  bottle, 
dipped  up  a  little  fresh  water,  added  brandy, 
and  lifted  Brit's  head  very  gently  and  gave  him 


152  THE  QUIRT 

a  drink.  Brit  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
Swan,  and  from  him  to  Lorraine,  but  he  did  not 
say  anything.  He  still  had  that  tightened  look 
around  his  mouth  which  spelled  pain. 

"  Pretty  quick  now  we  get  you  fixed  up  good," 
Swan  told  him  cheerfully.  "  One  mile  more  is 
all,  and  we  get  the  horses  and  I  make  a  good  bed 
for  you."  He  looked  a  signal,  and  Lorraine  once 
more  took  up  the  stretcher. 

Another  mile  seemed  a  long  way,  light  though 
Swan  had  made  the  load  for  her.  She  thought 
once  that  he  must  have  some  clairvoyant  power, 
because  whenever  she  felt  as  if  her  arms  were 
breaking,  Swan  would  tell  her  to  stop  a  minute. 

"  How  do  you  know  a  doctor  will  come?  "  she 
asked  Swan  suddenly,  when  they  were  resting 
with  the  Thurman  ranch  in  view  half  a  mile  be- 
low them. 

Swan  did  not  look  at  her  directly,  as  had  been 
his  custom.  She  saw  a  darker  shade  of  red  creep 
up  into  his  cheeks.  "  My  mother  says  she  would 
send  a  doctor  quick,"  he  replied  hesitatingly. 
"You  will  see.  It  is  because — your  father  he 
is  not  like  other  men  in  this  country.  Your 
father  is  a  good  man.  That  is  why  a  doctor 
comes." 


SWAN  TALKS  153 

Lorraine  looked  at  him  strangely  and  stooped 
again  to  her  burden.  She  did  not  speak  again 
until  they  were  passing  the  Thurman  fence  where 
it  ran  up  into  the  mouth  of  the  canyon.  A  few 
horses  were  grazing  there,  the  sun  striking  their 
sides  with  the  sheen  of  satin.  They  stared  curi- 
ously at  the  little  procession,  snorted  and  started 
to  run,  heads  and  tails  held  high.  But  one 
wheeled  suddenly  and  came  galloping  toward 
them,  stopped  when  he  was  quite  close,  ducked 
and  went  thundering  past  to  the  head  of  the 
field.  Lorraine  gave  a  sharp  little  scream  and 
set  down  the  stretcher  with  a  lurch,  staring  after 
the  horse  wide-eyed,  her  face  white. 

"  They  do  it  for  play,"  Swan  said  reassuringly. 
"  They  don't  hurt  you.  The  fence  is  between, 
and  they  don't  hurt  you  anyway." 

"  That  horse  with  the  white  face — I  saw  it — 
and  when  the  man  struck  it  with  his  quirt  it 
went  past  me,  running  like  that  and  dragging — 
oh-li!"  She  leaned  against  the  bluff  side,  her 
face  covered  with  her  two  palms. 

Swan  glanced  down  at  Brit,  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  closed,  ducked  his  head  from  under  the 
looped  rope  and  went  to  Lorraine. 

"  The  man  that  struck  that  horse — do  you 


154  THE  QUIRT 

know  that  man?  "  he  asked,  all  the  good  nature 
gone  from  his  voice. 

"  No — I  don't  know — I  saw  him  twice,  by  the 
lightning  flashes.  He  shot — and  then  I  saw 

him "  She  stopped  abruptly,  stood  for  a 

minute  longer  with  her  eyes  covered,  then 
dropped  her  hands  limply  to  her  sides.  But 
when  the  horse  came  circling  back  with  a  great 
flourish,  she  shivered  and  her  hands  closed  into 
the  fists  of  a  fighter. 

"Are  you  a  Sawtooth  man?"  she  demanded 
suddenly,  looking  up  at  Swan  defiantly.  "  It 
was  a  nightmare.  I — I  dreamed  once  about  a 
horse — like  that." 

Swan's  wide-open  eyes  softened  a  little.  "  The 
Sawtooth  calls  me  that  damn  Swede  on  Bear 
Top,"  he  explained.  "  I  took  a  homestead  up 
there  and  some  day  they  will  want  to  buy  my 
place  or  they  will  want  to  make  a  fight  with  me 
to  get  the  water.  Could  you  know  that  man 
again?  " 

"  Raine ! "  Brit's  voice  held  a  warning,  and 
Lorraine  shivered  again  as  she  turned  toward 
him.  "  Eaine,  you " 

He  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  she  could  get  no 
further  speech  from  him.  But  she  thought  she 


SWAN  TALKS  155 

understood.  He  did  not  want  her  to  talk  about 
Fred  Thurman.  She  went  to  her  end  of  the 
stretcher  and  waited  there  while  Swan  put  the 
rope  over  his  head.  They  went  on,  Lorraine 
walking  with  her  head  averted,  trying  not  to  see 
the  blaze-faced  roan,  trying  to  shut  out  the 
memory  of  him  dashing  past  her  with  his  terrible 
burden,  that  night. 

Swan  did  not  speak  of  the  matter  again.  With 
Lorraine's  assistance  he  carried  Brit  into  Thur- 
man's  cabin,  laid  him,  stretcher  and  all,  on  the 
bed  and  hurried  out  to  catch  and.  harness  the 
team  of  work  horses.  Lorraine  waited  beside 
her  father,  helpless  and  miserable.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  wait,  yet  waiting  seemed  to  her 
the  one  thing  she  could  not  do. 

"  Raine ! "  Brit's  voice  was  very  weak,  but 
Lorraine  jumped  as  though  a  trumpet  had  bel- 
lowed suddenly  in  her  ear.  "  Swan — he's  all 
right.  But  don't  go  telling — all  yuh  know  and 
some  besides.  He  ain't — Sawtooth,  but — he 
might  let  out " 

"I  know.  I  won't,  dad.  It  was  that  horse " 

Brit  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  as  if  no  more 
was  to  be  said  on  the  subject.  Lorraine  wan- 
dered around  the  cabin,  which  was  no  larger  than 


156  THE  QUIRT 

her  father's  place.  The  rooms  were  scrupu- 
lously clean — neater  than  the  Quirt,  she  observed 
guiltily.  Not  one  article,  however  small  and  un- 
important, seemed  to  be  out  of  its  place,  and  the 
floors  of  both  rooms  were  scrubbed  whiter  than 
any  floors  she  had  ever  seen.  Swan's  house- 
keeping qualities  made  her  ashamed  of  her  own 
imperfections;  and  when,  thinking  that  Swan 
must  be  hungry  and  that  the  least  she  could  do 
was  to  set  out  food  for  him,  she  opened  the  cup- 
board, she  had  a  swift,  embarrassed  vision  of  her 
own  culinary  imperfections.  She  could  cook 
better  food  than  her  dad  had  been  content  to  eat 
and  to  set  before  others,  but  Swan's  bread  was  a 
triumph  in  sour  dough.  Biscuits  tall  and  light 
as  bread  can  be  she  found,  covered  neatly  with  a 
cloth.  Prunes  stewed  so  that  there  was  not  one 
single  wrinkle  in  them — Lorraine  could  scarcely 
believe  they  were  prunes  until  she  tasted  them. 
She  was  investigating  a  pot  of  beans  when  Swan 
came  in. 

"  Food  I  am  thinking  of,  Miss,"  he  grinned  at 
her.  "  We  shall  hurry,  but  it  is  not  good  to  go 
hungry.  Milk  is  outside  in  a  cupboard.  It  is 
quicker  than  to  make  coffee." 

"  It  will  be  dark  before  we  can  get  him  home," 


SWAN  TALKS  157 

said  Lorraine  uneasily.  "And  by  the  time  a 
doctor  can  get  out  there " 

"A  doctor  will  be  there,  I  think.  You  don't 
believe,  but  that  is  no  difference  to  his  coming 
just  the  same." 

He  brought  the  milk,  poured  off  the  creamy  top 
into  a  pitcher,  stirred  it,  and  quietly  insisted  that 
she  drink  two  glasses.  Lorraine  observed  that 
Swan  himself  ate  very  little,  bolting  down  a 
biscuit  in  great  mouthfuls  while  he  carried  a 
mattress  and  blankets  out  to  spread  in  the 
wagon.  It  was  like  his  pretense  of  weariness  on 
the  long  carry  down  the  canyon,  she  thought. 
It  was  for  her  more  than  for  himself  that  he 
was  thinking. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

. 

THE   QUIRT   PARRIES   THE   FIRST  BLOW 

A  CAR  with,  dimmed  lights  stood  in  front  of 
the  Quirt  cabin  when  Swan  drove  around 
the  last  low  ridge  and  down  to  the  gate.  The 
rattle  of  the  wagon  must  have  been  heard,  for 
the  door  opened  suddenly  and  Frank  stood  re- 
vealed in  the  yellow  light  of  the  kerosene  lamp 
on  the  table  within.  Behind  Frank,  Lorraine 
saw  Jim  and  Sorry  standing  in  their  shirt  sleeves 
looking  out  into  the  dark.  Another,  shorter 
figure  she  glimpsed  as  Frank  and  the  two  men 
stepped  out  and  came  striding  hastily  toward 
them.  Lorraine  jumped  out  and  ran  to  meet 
them,  hoping  and  fearing  that  her  hope  was 
foolish.  That  car  might  easily  be  only  Bob  War- 
field  on  some  errand  of  no  importance.  Still, 
she  hoped. 

"That  you,  Raine?  Where's  Brit?  What's 
all  this  about  Brit  being  hurt?  A  doctor  from 
Shoshone " 

"A  doctor?    Oh,  did  a  doctor  come,  then? 


THE  QUIRT  PARRIES         159 

Oh,  help  Swan  carry  dad  in!  I'm — oh,  I'm 
afraid  he's  awfully  injured!  " 

"  Yes-s — but  how'n  hell  did  a  doctor  know 
about  it? "  Sorry,  the  silent,  blurted  unex- 
pectedly. 

"  Oh, — never  mind — but  get  dad  in.  I'll " 

She  ran  past  them  without  finishing  her  sen- 
tence and  burst  incoherently  into  the  presence  of 
an  extremely  calm  little  man  with  gray  whiskers 
and  dust  on  the  shoulders  of  his  coat.  These 
details,  I  may  add,  formed  the  sum  of  Lorraine's 
first  impression  of  him. 

"  Well !  Well !  "  he  remonstrated  with  a  pro- 
fessional briskness,  when  she  nearly  bowled  him 
over.  "  We  seem  to  be  in  something  of  a  hurry ! 
Is  this  the  patient  I  was  sent  to  examine?  " 

"  No !  "  Lorraine  flashed  impatiently  over  her 
shoulder  as  she  rushed  into  her  own  room  and 
began  turning  down  the  covers.  "It's  dad,  of 
course — and  you'd  better  get  your  coat  off  and 
get  ready  to  go  to  work,  because  I  expect  he's 
just  one  mass  of  broken  bones !  " 

The  doctor  smiled  behind  his  whiskers  and  re- 
turned to  the  doorway  to  direct  the  carrying  in 
of  his  patient.  His  sharp  eyes  went  immediately 
to  Brit's  face,  pallid  under  the  leathery  tan,  his 


160  THE  QUIRT 

fingers  went  to  Brit's  hairy,  corded  wrist.  The 
doctor  smiled  no  more  that  evening. 

"  No,  he  is  not  a  mass  of  broken  bones,  I  am 
happy  to  say,"  he  reported  gravely  to  Lorraine 
afterwards.  "  He  has  a  sufficient  number,  how- 
ever. The  left  scapula  is  fractured,  likewise  the 
clavicle,  and  there  is  a  compound  fracture  of  the 
femur.  There  is  some  injury  to  the  head,  the 
exact  extent  of  which  I  cannot  as  yet  determine. 
He  should  be  removed  to  a  hospital,  unless  you 
are  prepared  to  have  a  nurse  here  for  some  time, 
or  to  assume  the  burden  of  a  long  and  tedious 
illness."  He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "  The 
journey  to  Shoshone  would  be  a  considerable 
strain  on  the  patient  in  his  present  condition. 
He  has  a  splendid  amount  of  constitutional  vital- 
ity, or  he  would  scarcely  have  survived  his  in- 
juries so  long  without  medical  attendance.  Can 
you  tell  me  just  how  the  accident  occurred?  " 

"Excuse  me,  doctor — and  Miss,"  Swan  diffi- 
dently interrupted.  "  I  could  ask  you  to  take  a 
look  on  my  shoulder,  if  you  please.  If  you  are 
done  setting  bones  in  Mr.  Hunter.  I  have  a 
great  pain  on  my  shoulder  from  carrying  so 
long." 

"  You    never    mentioned    it ! "    Lorraine    re- 


THE  QUIRT  PARRIES         161 

preached  him  quickly.  "  Of  course  it  must  be 
looked  after  right  away.  And  then,  Doctor,  I'd 
like  to  talk  to  you,  if  you  don't  mind."  She 
watched  them  retreat  to  the  bunk-house  together, 
Swan's  big  form  towering  above  the  doctor's 
slighter  figure.  Swan  was  talking  earnestly,  the 
mumble  of  his  voice  reaching  Lorraine  without 
the  enunciation  of  any  particular  word  to  give 
a  clue  to  what  he  was  saying.  But  it  struck  her 
that  his  voice  did  not  sound  quite  natural ;  not  so 
Swedish,  not  so  careful. 

Frank  came  tiptoeing  out  of  the  room  where 
Brit  lay  bandaged  and  unconscious  and  stood 
close  to  Lorraine,  looking  down  at  her  solemnly. 

"  How  'n  'ell  did  he  git  here — the  doctor?  "  he 
demanded,  making  a  great  effort  to  hold  his 
voice  down  to  a  whisper,  and  forgetting  now  and 
then.  "How'd  he  know  Brit  rolled  off'n  the 
grade?  Us  here,  we  never  knowed  it,  and  I  was 
tryin'  to  send  him  back  when  you  came.  He 
said  somebody  telephoned  there  was  a  man  hurt 
in  a  runaway.  There  ain't  a  telephone  closer'n 
the  Sawtooth,  and  that  there's  a  good  twenty 
mile  and  more  from  where  Brit  was  hurt.  It's 
damn  funny." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  Lorraine  admitted  uncomfortably. 


162  THE  QUIRT 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you  do  about 
it." 

"Well,  how  'n  'ell  did  it  happen?  Brit,  he 
oughta  know  enough  to  rough-lock  down  that 
hill.  An'  that  team  ain't  a  runaway  team.  / 
never  had  no  trouble  with  'em — they're  good  at 
holdin'  a  load.  They'll  set  down  an'  slide  but 
what  they'll  hold  'er.  What  become  of  the 
horses?  " 

"  Why — they're  over  there  yet.  We  forgot  all 
about  the  horses,  I  think.  Caroline  was  stand- 
ing up,  all  right.  The  other  horse  may  be 
killed.  I  don't  know — it  was  lying  down.  And 
Yellowjacket  was  up  that  little  gully  just  this 
side  of  the  wreck,  when  I  left  him.  They  did  try 
to  hold  the  load,  Frank.  Something  must  have 
happened  to  the  brake.  I  saw  dad  crawling  out 
from  under  the  wagon  just  before  I  got  to  where 
the  load  was  standing.  Or  some  one  did.  I 
think  it  was  dad.  But  Caroline  kicked  my 
horse  down  off  the  road,  and  I  only  saw  him  a 
minute — but  it  must  have  been  dad.  And 
then,  a  little  way  down  the  hill,  something  went 
wrong. " 

Frank  seemed  trying  to  reconstruct  the  acci- 
dent from  Lorraine's  description.  "He'd  no 


THE  QUIRT  PARRIES         163 

business  to  start  down  if  his  rough-lock  wasn't 
all  right,"  he  said.  "  It  ain't  like  him.  Brit's 
careful  about  them  things — little  men  most  al- 
ways are.  I  don't  see  how  'n  'ell  it  worked 
loose.  It's  a  damn  queer  layout  all  around ;  and 
this  here  doctor  gitting  here  ahead  of  you  folks, 
that  there  is  the  queerest.  What's  he  say  about 
Brit?  Think  he'll  pull  through?  " 

The  doctor  himself,  coming  up  just  then,  an- 
swered the  question.  Of  course  the  patient 
would  pull  through!  What  were  doctors  for? 
As  to  his  reason  for  coming,  he  referred  them  to 
Mr.  Vjolmar,  whom  he  thought  could  better  ex- 
plain the  matter. 

The  three  of  them  waited, — five  of  them,  since 
Jim  and  Sorry  had  come  up,  anxious  to  hear  the 
doctor's  opinion  and  anything  else  pertaining  to 
the  affair.  Swan  was  coming  slowly  from  the 
bunk-house,  buttoning  his  coat.  He  seemed  to 
feel  that  they  were  waiting  for  him  and  to  know 
why.  His  manner  was  diffident,  deprecating 
even. 

"  We  may  as  well  go  in  out  of  the  mosquitoes," 
the  doctor  suggested.  "And  I  wish  you  would 
tell  these  people  what  you  told  me,  young  man. 
Don't  be  afraid  to  speak  frankly;  it  is  rather 


164  THE  QUIRT 

amazing  but  not  at  all  impossible,  as  I  can  testify. 
In  fact,"  he  added  dryly,  "my  presence  here 
ought  to  settle  any  doubt  of  that.  Just  tell 
them,  young  man,  about  your  mother." 

Swan  was  the  last  to  enter  the  kitchen,  and  he 
stood  leaning  against  the  closed  door,  turning  his 
old  hat  round  and  round,  his  eyes  going  swiftly 
from  face  to  face.  They  were  watching  him,  and 
Swan  blushed  a  deep  red  while  he  told  them 
about  his  mother  in  Boise,  and  how  he  could  talk 
to  her  with  his  thoughts.  He  explained  labori- 
ously how  the  thoughts  from  her  came  like  his 
mother  speaking  in  his  head,  and  that  his 
thoughts  reached  her  in  the  same  way.  He  said 
that  since  he  was  a  little  boy  they  could  talk  to- 
gether with  their  thoughts,  but  people  laughed 
and  some  called  them  crazy,  so  that  now  he  did 
not  like  to  have  somebody  know  that  he  could 
do  it. 

"  But  Brit  Hunter's  hurt  bad,  so  a  doctor  must 
come  quick,  or  I  think  he  maybe  will  die.  It 
takes  too  long  to  ride  a  horse  to  Echo  from  this 
ranch,  so  I  call  on  my  mother,  and  I  tell  my 
mother  a  doctor  must  come  quick  to  this  ranch. 
So  my  mother  sends  a  telephone  to  this  doctor  in 
Shoshone,  and  he  comes.  That  is  all.  But  I 


THE  Q 

would  not  like  it 
that  I  do  that,  f 

He  looked  st 
two  unprepos 
and  at  Swan 
again,  and  1> 
leaning  ag- 
"  I  would  '<* 
get  the  dc 
Sorry  7 
stated  he 
"  You  i 
removed 
"You 
Frank  w 
"Yeal 
and  the;* 
of  utter 
by  theft 
City  wa 
phlegmf 
calm. 

"The 
believe 
labored 
I  ain't  e 


't  he?"  Swan  re- 
id  milk  the  cows 

Swan,  how  can 

ected  fashion. 

•lessly  at  the 

>hin.     "  The 

*?  'id  calmly. 

\t  further 

irned  ab- 

'anced  in 

upraised 

-ourself, 

t  worry 

ibly.    I 

7  tedicine, 

•  leep.    I 

i  lot  that 

ight  for 

,son  why 

it.    You 

ile  your 

it  dose, 
way  for- 


THE  QUIRT  PARRIES         167 

got,  in  the  muddle  of  thoughts  that  whirled  con- 
fusingly  in  her  brain.  Little  things  distressed 
her  oddly,  while  her  father's  desperate  state  left 
her  numb.  She  lay  down  on  the  cot  in  the  far- 
ther corner  of  the  kitchen  where  her  father  had 
slept  just  last  night — it  seemed  so  long  ago! — 
and  almost  immediately,  as  her  senses  recorded 
it,  bright  sunlight  was  shining  into  the  room. 


CHAPTEB  THIRTEEN 

LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND 

LONE  MORGAN,  over  at  Elk  Spring  camp, 
was  just  sitting  down  to  eat  Ms  midday 
meal  when  some  one  shouted  outside.  Lone 
stiffened  in  his  chair,  felt  under  his  coat,  and 
then  got  up  with  some  deliberation  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  before  he  went  to  the  door. 
All  this  was  a  matter  of  habit,  bred  of  Lone's 
youth  in  the  feud  country,  and  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  his  conscience. 

"  Hello !  "  he  called,  standing  in  the  doorway 
and  grinning  a  welcome  to  Swan,  who  stood  with 
one  arm  resting  on  the  board  gate.  "  She's  on 
the  table — come  on  in." 

"  I  don't  know  if  you're  home  with  the  door 
shut  like  that,"  Swan  explained,  coming  up  to 
the  cabin.  "  I  chased  a  coyote  from  Rock  City 
to  here,  and  by  golly,  he's  going  yet !  I'll  get  him 
sometime,  maybe.  He's  smart,  but  you  can  beat 
anything  with  thinking  if  you  don't  stop  think- 


LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND      169 

ing.  Always  the  other  feller  stops  sometimes, 
and  then  you  get  him.  You  believe  that?  " 

"  It  most  generally  works  out  that  way,"  Lone 
admitted,  getting  another  plate  and  cup  from  the 
cupboard,  which  was  merely  a  box  nailed  with 
its  bottom  to  the  wall,  and  a  flour  sack  tacked 
across  the  front  for  a  curtain.  "  Even  a  coyote 
slips  up  now  and  then,  I  reckon." 

Swan  sat  down,  smoothing  his  tousled  yellow 
hair  with  both  hands  as  he  did  so.  "  By  golly, 
my  shoulder  is  sore  yet  from  carrying  Brit 
Hunter,"  he  remarked  carelessly,  flexing  his 
muscles  and  grimacing  a  little. 

Lone  was  pouring  the  coffee,  and  he  ran 
Swan's  cup  over  before  he  noticed  what  he  was 
doing.  Swan  looked  up  at  him  and  looked  away 
again,  reaching  for  a  cloth  to  wipe  the  spilled 
coffee  from  the  table. 

"  How  was  that?  "  Lone  asked,  turning  away 
to  the  stove.  "What-all  happened  to  Brit 
Hunter?  " 

Swan,  with  his  plate  filled  and  his  coffee  well 
sweetened,  proceeded  to  relate  with  much  detail 
the  story  of  Brit's  misfortune.  "By  golly,  I 
don't  see  how  he  don't  get  killed,"  he  finished, 
helping  himself  to  another  biscuit.  "  By  golly, 


170  THE  QUIRT 

I  don't.  Falling  into  Spirit  Canyon  is  like 
getting  dragged  by  a  horse.  It  should  kill  a 
man.  What  you  think,  Lone?  " 

"  It  didn't,  you  say."  Lone's  eyes  were  turned 
to  his  coffee  cup. 

"  It  don't  kill  Brit  Hunter— not  yet.  I  think 
maybe  he  dies  with  all  his  bones  broke,  like  that. 
By  golly,  that  shows  you  what  could  happen  if 
a  man  don't  think.  Brit  should  look  at  that 
chain  on  his  wheel  before  he  starts  down  that 
road." 

"  Oh.    His  brake  didn't  hold,  eh?  " 

"  I  look  at  that  wagon,"  Swan  answered  care- 
fully. "  It  is  something  funny  about  that  chain. 
I  worked  hauling  logs  in  the  mountains,  once. 
It  is  something  damn  funny  about  that  chain, 
the  way  it's  fixed." 

Lone  did  not  ask  him  for  particulars,  as  per- 
haps Swan  expected.  He  did  not  speak  at  all  for 
awhile,  but  presently  pushed  back  his  plate  as 
if  his  appetite  were  gone. 

"It's  like  Fred  Thurman,"  Swan  continued 
moralizing.  "  If  Fred  don't  ride  backwards,  I 
bet  he  don't  get  killed — like  that." 

"  Where's  Brit  now?  "  Lone  asked,  getting  up 
and  putting  on  his  hat.  "At  the  ranch?  " 


LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND     171 

"  Or  heaven,  maybe,"  Swan  responded  sen- 
tentiously.  "  But  my  dog  Yack,  he  don't  howl 
yet.  I  guess  Brit's  at  the  ranch." 

"  Sorry  I'm  busy  to-day,"  said  Lone,  opening 
the  door.  "  You  stay  as  long  as  you  like,  Swan. 
I've  got  some  riding  to  do." 

"  I'll  wash  the  dishes,  and  then  I  maybe  will 
think  quicker  than  that  coyote.  I'm  after  him, 
by  golly,  till  I  get  him." 

Lone  muttered  something  and  went  out. 
Within  five  minutes  Swan,  hearing  hoofbeats, 
looked  out  through  a  crack  in  the  door  and  saw 
Lone  riding  at  a  gallop  along  the  trail  to  Rock 
City.  "  Good  bait.  He  swallows  the  hook,"  he 
commented  to  himself,  and  his  good-natured  grin 
was  not  brightening  his  face  while  he  washed  the 
dishes  and  tidied  the  cabin. 

With  Lone  rode  bitterness  of  soul  and  a  sick 
fear  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  own  destiny. 
How  long  ago  Brit  had  been  hurled  into  the 
canyon  Lone  did  not  know;  he  had  not  asked. 
But  he  judged  that  it  must  have  been  very 
recently.  Swan  had  not  told  him  of  anything 
but  the  runaway,  and  of  helping  to  carry  Brit 
home — and  of  the  "  damn  funny  thing  about  the 
chain " — the  rough-lock,  he  must  have  meant. 


172  THE  QUIRT 

Too  well  Lone  understood  the  sinister  meaning 
that  probably  lay  behind  that  phrase. 

"  They've  started  on  the  Quirt  now,"  he  told 
himself  with  foreboding.  "  She's  been  telling 
her  father " 

Lone  fell  into  bitter  argument  with  himself. 
Just  how  far  was  it  justifiable  to  mind  his  own 
business?  And  if  he  did  not  mind  it,  what  pos- 
sible chance  had  he  against  a  power  so  ruthless 
and  so  cunning?  An  accident  to  a  man  driving 
a  loaded  wagon  down  the  Spirit  Canyon  grade 
had  a  diabolic  plausibility  that  no  man  in  the 
country  could  question.  Brit,  he  reasoned,  could 
not  have  known  before  he  started  that  his  rough- 
lock  had  been  tampered  with,  else  he  would  have 
fixed  it.  Neither  was  Brit  the  man  to  forget  the 
brake  on  his  load.  If  Brit  lived,  he  might  talk 
as  much  as  he  pleased,  but  he  could  never  prove 
that  his  accident  had  been  deliberately  staged 
with  murderous  intent. 

Lone  lifted  his  head  and  looked  away  across 
the  empty  miles  of  sageland  to  the  quiet  blue  of 
the  mountains  beyond.  Peace — the  peace  of  un- 
troubled wilderness — brooded  over  the  land.  Far 
in  the  distance,  against  the  rim  of  rugged  hills, 
was  an  irregular  splotch  of  brown  which  was 


LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND      173 

the  headquarters  of  the  Sawtooth.  Lone  turned 
his  wrist  to  the  right,  and  John  Doe,  obeying  the 
rein  signal,  left  the  trail  and  began  picking 
his  way  stiff-legged  down  the  steep  slope  of 
the  ridge,  heading  directly  toward  the  home 
ranch. 

John  Doe  was  streaked  with  sweat  and  his 
flanks  were  palpitating  with  fatigue  when  Lone 
rode  up  to  the  corral  and  dismounted.  Pop 
Bridgers  saw  him  and  came  bow-legging  eagerly 
forward  with  gossip  titillating  on  his  meddle- 
some tongue,  but  Lone  stalked  by  him  with  only 
a  surly  nod.  Bob  Warfield  he  saw  at  a  distance 
and  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  He  met 
Hawkins  coming  down  from  his  house  and 
stopped  in  the  trail. 

"  Have  you  got  time  to  go  back  to  the  office 
and  fix  up  my  time,  Hawkins?  "  he  asked  without 
prelude.  "  I'm  quitting  to-day." 

Hawkins  stared  and  named  the  Biblical  place 
of  torment.  "What  yuh  quittin'  for,  Lone?" 
he  added  incredulously.  "All  you  boys  got  a 
raise  last  month;  ain't  that  good  enough?  " 

"Plenty  good  enough,  so  long  as  I  work  for 
the  outfit." 

"Well,  what's  wrong?    You've  been  with  us 


174  THE  QUIRT 

five  years,  Lone,  and  it's  suited  you  all  right 
so  far " 

Lone  looked  at  him.  "  Say,  I  never  set  out  to 
marry  the  Sawtooth,"  he  stated  calmly.  "And 
if  I  have  married  you-all  by  accident,  you  can  get 
a  bill  of  divorce  for  desertion.  This  ain't  the 
first  time  a  man  ever  quit  yuh,  is  it,  Hawkins?  " 

"  No — and  there  ain't  a  man  on  the  pay  roll  we 
can't  do  without,"  Hawkins  retorted,  his  neck 
stiffening  with  resentment.  "  It's  a  kinda  rusty 
trick,  though,  Lone,  quittin'  without  notice  and 
leaving  a  camp  empty." 

"Elk  Spring  won't  run  away,"  Lone  assured 
him  without  emotion.  "  She's  been  left  alone  a 
week  or  two  at  a  time  during  roundups.  I  don't 
reckon  the  outfit'll  bust  up  before  you  get  a  man 
down  there." 

The  foreman  looked  at  him  curiously,  for  this 
was  not  like  Lone,  whose  tone  had  always  been 
soft  and  friendly,  and  whose  manner  had  no  hint 
of  brusqueness.  There  was  a  light,  too,  in  Lone's 
eyes  that  had  not  been  there  before.  But  Haw- 
kins would  not  question  him  further.  If  Lone 
Morgan  or  any  other  man  wanted  to  quit,  that 
was  his  privilege, — providing,  of  course,  that 
his  leaving  was  not  likely  to  menace  the  peace 


LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND      175 

and  security  of  the  Sawtooth:.  Lone  had  made 
it  a  point  to  mind  his  own  business,  always.  He 
had  never  asked  questions,  he  had  never  surmised 
or  gossiped.  So  Hawkins  gave  him  a  check  for 
his  wages  and  let  him  go  with  no  more  than  a 
foreman's  natural  reluctance  to  lose  a  trust- 
worthy man. 

By  hard  riding  along  short  cuts,  Lone  reached 
the  Quirt  ranch  and  dropped  reins  at  the  door- 
step, not  much  past  mid-afternoon. 

"  I  rode  over  to  see  if  there's  anything  I  can 
do,"  he  said,  when  Lorraine  opened  the  door  to 
him.  He  did  not  like  to  ask  about  her  father, 
fearing  that  the  news  would  be  bad. 

"Why,  thank  you  for  coming."  Lorraine 
stepped  back,  tacitly  inviting  him  to  enter. 
"  Dad  knows  us  to-day,  but  of  course  he's  terribly 
hurt  and  can't  talk  much.  We  do  need  some  one 
to  go  to  town  for  things.  Frank  helps  me  with 
dad,  and  Jim  and  Sorry  are  trying  to  keep  things 
going  on  the  ranch.  And  Swan  does  what  he 
can,  of  course,  but " 

"  I  just  thought  you  maybe  needed  somebody 
right  bad,"  said  Lone  quietly,  meaning  a  great 
deal  more  than  Lorraine  dreamed  that  he  meant. 
"  I'm  not  doing  anything  at  all,  right  now,  so  I 


176  THE  QUIRT 

can  just  as  well  help  out  as  not.  I  can  go  to 
town  right  away,  if  I  can  borrow  a  horse.  John 
Doe,  he's  pretty  tired.  I  been  pushing  him  right 
through — not  knowing  there  was  a  town  trip 
ahead  of  him." 

Lorraine  found  her  eyes  going  misty.  He  was 
so  quiet,  and  so  reassuring  in  his  quiet.  Half 
her  burden  seemed  to  slip  from  her  shoulders 
while  she  looked  at  him.  She  turned  away,  grop- 
ing for  the  door  latch. 

"  You  may  see  dad,  if  you  like,  while  I  get  the 
list  of  things  the  doctor  ordered.  He  left  only  a 
little  while  ago,  and  I  was  waiting  for  one  of  the 
boys  to  come  back  so  I  could  send  him  to  town." 

It  was  on  Lone's  tongue  to  ask  why  the  doctor 
had  not  taken  in  the  order  himself  and  instructed 
some  one  to  bring  out  the  things ;  but  he  remem- 
bered how  very  busy  with  its  own  affairs  was 
Echo  and  decided  that  the  doctor  was  wise. 

He  tiptoed  in  to  the  bed  and  saw  a  sallow  face 
covered  with  stubbly  gray  whiskers  and  framed 
with  white  bandages.  Brit  opened  his  eyes  and 
moved  his  thin  lips  in  some  kind  of  greeting,  and 
Lone  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  feeling  as 
miserably  guilty  ns  if  he  himself  had  brought  the 
old  man  to  this  pass.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Brit 


LONE  TAKES  HIS  STAND     177 

must  know  more  of  the  accident  than  Swan  had 
told,  and  the  thought  did  not  add  to  his  comfort. 
He  waited  until  Brit  opened  his  eyes  again,  and 
then  he  leaned  forward,  holding  Brit's  wander- 
ing glance  with  his  own  intent  gaze. 

"  I  ain't  working  now,"  he  said,  lowering  his 
voice  so  that  Lorraine  could  not  hear.  "  So  I'm 
going  to  stay  here  and  help  see  you  through  with 
this.  I've  quit  the  Sawtooth." 

Brit's  eyes  cleared  and  studied  Lone's  face. 
"  D'you  know — anything?  " 

"  No,  I  don't."  Lone's  face  hardened  a  little. 
"  But  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I'm — with  the 
Quirt,  now." 

"  Frank  hire  yuh?  " 

"No.  I  ain't  hired  at  all.  I'm  just — with 
yuh." 

"We — need  yuh,"  said  Brit  grimly,  looking 
Lone  straight  in  the  eyes. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

"  FRANK'S  DEAD  " 


come  yet?"  The  peevish  impa- 
tience  of  an  invalid  whose  horizon  has  nar- 
rowed to  his  own  personal  welfare  and  wants  was 
in  Brit's  voice.  Two  weeks  he  had  been  sick,  and 
his  temper  had  not  sweetened  with  the  pain  of 
his  broken  bones  and  the  enforced  idleness.  Brit 
was  the  type  of  man  who  is  never  quiet  unless  he 
is  asleep  or  too  ill  to  get  out  of  bed. 

Lorraine  came  to  the  doorway  and  looked  in  at 
him.  Two  weeks  had  set  their  mark  on  her  also. 
She  seemed  older,  quieter  in  her  ways  ;  there  were 
shadows  in  her  eyes  and  a  new  seriousness  in  the 
set  of  her  mouth.  She  had  had  her  burdens,  and 
she  had  borne  them  with  more  patience  than 
many  an  older  woman  would  have  done,  but  what 
she  thought  of  those  burdens  she  did  not  say. 

"  No,  dad  —  but  I  thought  I  heard  a  wagon  a 
little  while  ago.  He  must  be  coming,"  she  said. 

"Where's  Lone  at?"  Brit  moved  restlessly 
on  the  pillow  and  twisted  his  face  at  the  pain. 


"  FRANK'S  DEAD  "  179 

"  Lone  isn't  back,  either." 

"He  ain't?    Where'd  lie  go?  " 

Lorraine  came  to  the  bedside  and,  lifting  Brit's 
head  carefully,  arranged  the  pillow  as  she  knew 
he  liked  it.  "  I  don't  know  where  he  went,"  she 
said  dully.  "  He  rode  off  just  after  dinner.  Do 
you  want  your  supper  now?  Or  would  you 
rather  wait  until  Frank  brings  the  fruit?  " 

"  I'd  ruther  wait — if  Frank  don't  take  all 
night,"  Brit  grumbled.  "  I  hope  he  ain't  con- 
nected up  with  that  Echo  booze.  If  he  has " 

"  Oh,  no,  dad !  Don't  borrow  trouble.  Frank 
was  anxious  to  get  home  as  soon  as  he  could. 
He'll  be  coming  any  minute,  now.  I'll  go  listen 
for  the  wagon." 

"No  use  listenin'.  You  couldn't  hear  it  in 
that  sand — not  till  he  gits  to  the  gate.  I  don't 
see  where  Lone  goes  to,  all  the  time.  Where's 
Jim  and  Sorry,  then?  " 

"  Oh,  they've  had  their  supper  and  gone  to  the 
bunk-house.  Do  you  want  them?  " 

"  No !  What'd  I  want  'em  fur?  Not  to  look 
at,  that's  sure.  I  want  to  know  how  things  is 
going  on  this  ranch.  And  from  all  I  can  make 
out,  they  ain't  goin'  at  all,"  Brit  fretted.  "  What 
was  you  V  Lone  talkin'  so  long  about,  out  in  the 


180  THE  QUIRT 

kitchen  last  night?  Seems  to  me  you  V  him 
have  got  a  lot  to  say  to  each  other,  Raine." 

"  Why,  nothing  in  particular.  We  were  just — 
talking.  We're  all  human  beings,  dad ;  we  have 
to  talk  sometimes.  There's  nothing  else  to 
do." 

"Well,  I  caught  something  about  the  Saw- 
tooth. I  don't  want  you  talking  to  Lone  or  any- 
body else  about  that  outfit,  Eaine.  I  told  yuh  so 
once.  He's  all  right — I  ain't  saying  anything 
against  Lone — but  the  less  you  have  to  say  the 
more  you'll  have  to  be  thankful  fur,  mebby." 

"  I  was  wondering  if  Swan  could  have  gotten 
word  somehow  to  the  Sawtooth  and  had  them 
telephone  out  that  you  were  hurt.  And  Lone 
was  drawing  a  map  of  the  trails  and  showing  me 
how  far  it  was  from  the  canyon  to  the  Sawtooth 
ranch.  And  he  was  asking  me  just  how  it  hap- 
pened that  the  brake  didn't  hold,  and  I  said  it 
must  have  been  all  right,  because  I  saw  you  come 
out  from  under  the  wagon  just  before  you  hitched 
up.  I  thought  you  were  fixing  the  chain  on 
them." 

"  Huh?  "  Brit  lifted  his  head  off  the  pillow 
and  let  it  drop  back  again,  because  of  the  pain  in 
his  shoulder.  "You  never  seen  me  crawl  out 


"  FRANK'S  DEAD  "  181 

from  under  no  wagon.  I  come  straight  down  the 
hill  to  the  team." 

"  Well,  I  saw  some  one.  He  went  up  into  the 
brush.  I  thought  it  was  you."  Lorraine  turned 
in  the  doorway  and  stood  looking  at  him  perplex- 
edly. "  We  shouldn't  be  talking  about  it,  dad — - 
the  doctor  said  we  mustn't.  But  are  you  sure  it 
wasn't  you?  Because  I  certainly  saw  a  man 
crawl  out  from  under  the  wagon  and  start  up  the 
hill.  Then  the  horses  acted  up,  and  I  couldn't 
see  him  after  Yellowjacket  jumped  off  the  road." 

Brit  lay  staring  up  at  the  ceiling,  apparently 
unheeding  her  explanation.  Lorraine  watched 
him  for  a  minute  and  returned  to  the  kitchen 
door,  peering  out  and  listening  for  Frank  to  come 
from  Echo  with  supplies  and  the  mail  and,  more 
important  just  now,  fresh  fruit  for  her  father. 

"  I  think  he's  coming,  dad,"  she  called  in  to  her 
father.  "  I  just  heard  something  down  by  the 
gate." 

She  could  save  a  few  minutes,  she  thought,  by 
running  down  to  the  corral  where  Frank  would 
probably  stop  and  unload  the  few  sacks  of  grain 
he  was  bringing,  before  he  drove  up  to  the  house. 
Frank  was  very  methodical  in  a  fussy,  purpose- 
less way,  she  had  observed.  Twice  he  had  driven 


182  THE  QUIRT 

to  Echo  since  her  father  had  been  hurt,  and  each 
time  he  had  stopped  at  the  corral  on  his  way  to 
the  house.  So  she  closed  the  screen  door  behind 
her,  careful  that  it  should  not  slam,  and  ran 
down  the  path  in  the  heavy  dusk  wherein  crickets 
were  rasping  a  strident  chorus. 

"Oh!  It's  you,  is  it,  Lone?"  she  exclaimed, 
when  she  neared  the  vague  figure  of  a  man  un- 
saddling a  horse.  "  You  didn't  see  Prank  com- 
ing anywhere,  did  you?  Dad  won't  have  his 
supper  until  Frank  comes  with  the  things  I  sent 
for.  He's  late." 

Lone  was  lifting  the  saddle  off  the  back  of  John 
Doe,  which  he  had  bought  from  the  Sawtooth 
because  he  was  fond  of  the  horse.  He  hesitated 
and  replaced  the  saddle,  pulling  the  blanket 
straight  under  it. 

"  I  saw  him  coming  an  hour  ago,"  he  said.  "  I 
was  back  up  on  the  ridge,  and  I  saw  a  team  turn 
into  the  Quirt  trail  from  the  ford.  It  couldn't  be 
anybody  but  Frank.  I'll  ride  out  and  meet  him." 

He  was  mounted  and  gone  before  she  realized 
that  he  was  ready.  She  heard  the  sharp  staccato 
of  John  Doe's  hoofbeats  and  wondered  why  Lone 
had  not  waited  for  another  word  from  her.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  told  him  that  Frank  was  in 


"  FRANK'S  DEAD  "  183 

some  terrible  danger, — yet  she  had  merely  com- 
plained that  he  was  late.  The  bunk-house  door 
opened,  and  Sorry  came  out  on  the  doorstep, 
stood  there  a  minute  and  came  slowly  to  meet  her 
as  she  retraced  her  steps  to  the  house. 

"Where'd  Lone  go  so  sudden?"  he  asked, 
when  she  came  close  to  him  in  the  dusk.  "  That 
was  him,  wasn't  it?  " 

Lorraine  stopped  and  stood  looking  at  Mm 
without  speaking.  A  vague  terror  had  seized 
her.  She  wanted  to  scream,  and  yet  she  could 
think  of  nothing  to  scream  over.  It  was  Lone's 
haste,  she  told  herself  impatiently.  Her  nerves 
were  ragged  from  nursing  her  dad  and  from 
worrying  over  things  she  must  not  talk  about, — 
that  forbidden  subject  which  never  left  her  mind 
for  long. 

"  Wasn't  that  him?  "  Sorry  repeated  uneasily. 
"  What  took  him  off  again  in  such  a  rush?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  He  said  Frank  should 
have  been  here  long  ago.  He  went  to  look  for 
him.  Sorry,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "  what  is  the 
matter  with  this  place?  I  feel  as  if  something 
horrible  was  just  ready  to  jump  out  at  us  all.  I 
—I  want  my  back  against  something  solid,  all  the 
time,  so  that  nothing  can  creep  up  behind. 


184  THE  QUIRT 

Nothing,"  she  added  desperately,  "  could  happen 
to  Frank  between  here  and  the  turn-off  at  the 
ford,  could  it?  Lone  saw  him  turn  into  our  trail 
over  an  hour  ago,  he  said." 

Sorry,  his  fingers  thrust  into  his  overalls 
pockets,  his  thumbs  hooked  over  the  waistband, 
spat  into  the  sand  beside  the  path.  "  Well,  ,he 
started  off  with  a  cracked  doubletree,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  He  mighta  busted  'er  pullin'  through 
that  sand  hollow.  She  was  wired  up  pretty  good, 
though,  and  there  was  more  wire  in  the  rig.  I 
don't  know  of  anything  else  that'd  be  liable  to 
happen,  unless " 

"Unless  what?"  Lorraine  prompted  sharply. 
"  There's  too  much  that  isn't  talked  about,  on 
this  ranch.  What  else  could  happen?  " 

Sorry  edged  away  from  her.  "  Well — I  dunno 
as  anything  would  be  liable  to  happen,"  he  said 
uncomfortably.  "  'Taint  likely  him  V  Brit  'd 
both  have  accidents — not  right  hand-runnin'." 

"Accidents?"  Lorraine  felt  her  throat  squeeze 
together.  "  Sorry,  you  don't  mean — Sawtooth 
accidents?  "  she  blurted. 

She  surprised  a  grunt  out  of  Sorry,  who  looked 
over  his  shoulder  as  if  he  feared  eavesdroppers. 
"  Where'd  you  git  that  idee?  "  he  demanded.  "  I 


"  FRANK'S  DEAD  "  185 

dunno  what  you  mean.  Ain't  that  yore  dad 
callin'  yuh?  " 

Lorraine  ignored  the  hint.  "  You  do  know 
what  I  mean.  Why  did  you  say  they  wouldn't 
both  be  likely  to  have  accidents  hand-running? 
And  why  don't  you  do  something?  Why  does 
every  one  just  keep  still  and  let  things  happen, 
and  not  say  a  word?  If  there's  any  chance  of 
Frank  having  an — an  accident,  I  should  think 
you'd  be  out  looking  after  him,  and  not  standing 
there  with  your  hands  in  your  pockets  just  wait- 
ing to  see  if  he  shows  up  or  if  he  doesn't  show  up. 
You're  all  just  like  these  rabbits  out  in  the  sage. 
You'll  hide  under  a  bush  and  wait  until  you're 
almost  stepped  on  before  you  so  much  as  wiggle 
an  ear !  I'm  getting  good  and  tired  of  this  meek 
business ! " 

"  We-ell,"  Sorry  drawled  amiably  as  she  went 
past  him,  "playin'  rabbit-under-a-bush  mebby 
don't  look  purty,  but  it's  dern  good  life  insur- 
ance." 

"A  coward's  policy,"  Lorraine  taunted  him 
over  her  shoulder,  and  went  to  see  what  her 
father  wanted.  When  he,  too,  wanted  to  know 
why  Lone  had  come  and  gone  again  in  such  a 
hurry,  Lorraine  felt  all  the  courage  go  out  of  her 


186  THE  QUIRT 

at  once.  Their  very  uneasiness  seemed  to  prove 
that  there  was  more  than  enough  cause  for  it. 
Yet,  when  she  forced  herself  to  stop  and  think,  it 
was  all  about  nothing.  Frank  had  driven  to 
Echo  and  had  not  returned  exactly  on  time, 
though  a  dozen  things  might  have  detained  him. 

She  was  listening  at  the  door  when  Swan  ap- 
peared unexpectedly  before  her,  having  walked 
over  from  the  Thurman  ranch  after  doing  the 
chores.  To  him  she  observed  that  Frank  was  an 
hour  late,  and  Swan,  whistling  softly  to  Jack — 
Lorraine  was  surprised  to  hear  how  closely  the 
call  resembled  the  chirp  of  a  bird — strode  away 
without  so  much  as  a  pretense  at  excuse.  Lor- 
raine stared  after  him  wide-eyed,  wondering  and 
yet  not  daring  to  wonder. 

Her  father  called  to  her  fretfully,  and  she  went 
in  to  him  again  and  told  him  what  Sorry  had  said 
about  the  cracked  doubletree,  and  persuaded  him 
to  let  her  bring  his  supper  at  once,  and  to  have 
the  fruit  later  when  Frank  arrived.  Brit  did  not 
say  much,  but  she  sensed  his  uneasiness,  and  her 
own  increased  in  proportion.  Later  she  saw  two 
tiny,  glowing  points  down  by  the  corral  and  knew 
that  Sorry  and  Jim  were  down  there,  waiting  and 
listening,  ready  to  do  whatever  was  needed  of 


"FRANK'S  DEAD"  187 

them ;  although  what  that  would  be  she  could  not 
even  conjecture. 

She  made  her  father  comfortable,  chattered 
aimlessly  to  combat  her  understanding  of  his 
moody  silence,  and  listened  and  waited  and  tried 
her  pitiful  best  not  to  think  that  anything  could 
be  wrong.  The  subdued  chuckling  of  the  wagon 
in  the  sand  outside  the  gate  startled  her  with  its 
unmistakable  reality  after  so  many  false  impres- 
sions that  she  heard  it. 

"  Frank's  coming,  dad,"  she  announced  reliev- 
edly,  "  and  I'll  go  and  get  the  mail  and  the  fruit." 

She  ran  down  the  path  again,  almost  light- 
hearted  in  her  relief  from  that  vague  terror 
which  had  held  her  for  the  past  hour.  From  the 
corral  Sorry  and  Jim  came  walking  up  the  path 
to  meet  the  wagon  which  was  making  straight  for 
the  bunk-house  instead  of  going  first  to  the  stable. 
One  man  rode  on  the  seat,  driving  the  team  which 
walked  slowly,  oddly,  reminding  Lorraine  of  a 
funeral  procession.  Beside  the  wagon  rode  Lone, 
his  head  drooped  a  little  in  the  starlight.  It  was 
not  until  the  team  stopped  before  the  bunk-house 
that  Lorraine  knew  what  it  was  thajb  gave  her 
that  strange,  creepy  feeling  of  disaster.  It  was 
not  Frank  Johnson,  but  Swan  Vjolmar  who 


188  THE  QUIRT 

climbed  limberly  down  from  the  seat  without 
speaking  and  turned  toward  the  back  of  the 
wagon. 

"  Why,  where's  Frank?  "  she  asked,  going  up 
to  where  Lone  was  dismounting  in  silence. 

"  He's  there — in  the  wagon.  We  picked  him 
up  back  here  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  or 
so." 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  he  drunk?"  This 
was  Sorry  who  came  up  to  Swan  and  stood  ready 
to  lend  a  hand. 

"  He's  so  drunk  he  falls  out  of  wagon  down  the 
road,  but  he  don't  have  whisky  smell  by  his 
face,"  was  Swan's  ambiguous  reply. 

"  He's  not  hurt,  is  he? "  Lorraine  pressed 
close,  and  felt  a  hand  on  her  arm  pulling  her 
gently  away. 

"He's  hurt,"  Lone  said,  just  behind  her. 
"  We'll  take  him  into  the  bunk-house  and  bring 
him  to.  Kun  along  to  the  house  and  don't  worry 
— and  don't  say  anything  to  your  dad,  either. 
There's  no  need  to  bother  him  about  it.  We'll 
look  after  Frank." 

Already  Swan  and  Sorry  and  Jim  were  lifting 
Frank's  limp  form  from  the  rear  of  the  wagon. 
It  sagged  in  their  arms  like  a  dead  thing,  and 


"FRANK'S  DEAD"  189 

Lorraine  stepped  back  shuddering  as  they  passed 
her.  A  minute  later  she  followed  them  inside, 
where  Jim  was  lighting  the  lamp  with  shaking 
fingers.  By  the  glow  of  the  match  Lorraine  saw 
how  sober  Jim  looked,  how  his  chin  was  trem- 
bling under  the  drooping,  sandy  mustache.  She 
stared  at  him,  hating  to  read  the  emotion  in  his 
heavy  face  that  she  had  always  thought  so  utterly 
void  of  feeling. 

"  It  isn't — he  isn't "  she  began,  and  turned 

upon  Swan,  who  was  beside  the  bunk,  looking 
down  at  Frank's  upturned  face.  "  Swan,  if  it's 
serious  enough  for  a  doctor,  can't  you  send  an- 
other thought  message  to  your  mother? "  she 
asked.  "He  looks — oh,  Lone!  He  isn't  dead, 
is  he?  " 

Swan  turned  his  head  and  stared  down  at  her, 
and  from  her  face  his  glance  went  sharply  to 
Lone's  downcast  face.  He  looked  again  at  Lor- 
raine. 

"  To-night  I  can't  talk  with  my  mind,"  Swan 
told  her  bluntly.  "Not  always  I  can  do  that. 
I  could  ask  Lone  how  can  a  man  be  drunk  so  he 
falls  off  the  wagon  when  no  whisky  smell  is  on 
his  breath." 

"Breath?    Hell!    There  ain't  no  breath  to 


190  THE  QUIRT 

smell,"  Sorry  exclaimed  as  unexpectedly  as  his 
speeches  usually  were.  "  If  he's  breathin'  I  can't 
tell  it  on  him." 

"  He's  got  to  be  breathing ! "  Lone  declared 
with  a  suppressed  fierceness  that  made  them  all 
look  at  him.  "  I  found  a  half  bottle  of  whisky 
in  his  pocket — but  Swan's  right.  There  wasn't  a 
smell  of  it  on  his  breath — I  tell  you  now,  boys, 
that  he  was  lying  in  the  sand  between  two  sage- 
bushes,  on  his  face.  And  there  is  where  he  got 
the  blow — behind  his  ear.  It's  one  of  them  acci- 
dents that  you've  got  to  figure  out  for  yourself." 

"  Oh,  do  something !  "  Lorraine  cried  distract- 
edly. "  Never  mind  now  how  it  happened,  or 
whether  he  was  drunk  or  not — bring  him  to  his 
senses  first,  and  let  him  explain.  If  there's 
whisky,  wouldn't  that  help  if  he  swallowed  some 
now?  And  there's  medicine  for  dad's  bruises  in 
the  house.  I'll  get  it.  And  Swan !  Won't  you 
please  talk  to  your  mother  and  tell  her  we  need 
the  doctor?  " 

Swan  drew  back.  "  I  can't,"  he  said  shortly. 
"  Better  you  send  to  Echo  for  telegraph.  And  if 
you  have  medicine,  it  should  be  on  his  head 
quick." 

Lone  was  standing  with  his  fingers  pressed  on 


"  FRANK'S  DEAD  "  191 

Prank's  wrist.  He  looked  up,  hesitated,  drew 
out  his  knife  and  opened  the  small  blade.  He 
moved  so  that  his  back  was  to  Lorraine,  and  still 
holding  the  wrist  he  made  a  small,  clean  cut  in 
the  flesh.  The  three  others  stooped,  stared  with 
tightened  lips  at  the  bloodless  incision,  straight- 
ened and  looked  at  one  another  dumbly. 

"  I'd  like  to  lie  to  you,"  Lone  told  Lorraine, 
speaking  over  his  shoulder.  "  But  I  won't. 
You're  too  game  and  too  square.  Go  and  stay 
with  your  dad,  but  don't  let  him  know — get  him 
to  sleep.  We  don't  need  that  medicine,  nor  a 
doctor  either.  Frank's  dead.  I  reckon  he  was 
dead  when  he  hit  the  ground." 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE 

AT  daybreak  Swan  was  striding  toward  the 
place  where  Frank  Johnson  had  been 
found.  Lone,  his  face  moody,  his  eyes  clouded 
with  thought,  rode  beside  him,  while  Jack  trotted 
loose-jointedly  at  Swan's  heels.  Swan  had  his 
rifle,  and  Lone's  six-shooter  showed  now  and  then 
under  his  coat  when  the  wind  flipped  back  a  cor- 
ner. Neither  had  spoken  since  they  left  the 
ranch,  where  Jim  was  wandering  dismally  here 
and  there,  trying  to  do  the  chores  when  his  heart 
was  heavy  with  a  sense  of  personal  loss  and  grim 
foreboding.  None  save  Brit  had  slept  during  the 
night — and  Brit  had  slept  only  because  Lorraine 
had  prudently  given  him  a  full  dose  of  the  seda- 
tive left  by  the  doctor  for  that  very  purpose. 
Sorry  had  gone  to  Echo  to  send  a  telegram  to  the 
coroner,  and  he  was  likely  to  return  now  at  any 
time.  Wherefore  Swan  and  Lone  were  going  to 
look  over  the  ground  before  others  had  trampled 


SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE     193 

out  what  evidence  there  might  be  in  the  shape  of 
footprints. 

They  reached  the  spot  where  the  team  had 
stopped  of  its  own  accord  in  crossing  a  little, 
green  meadow,  and  had  gone  to  feeding.  Lone 
pulled  up  and  half  turned  in  the  saddle,  looking 
at  Swan  questioningly. 

"  Is  that  dog  of  yours  any  good  at  trailing?  " 
he  asked  abruptly.  "  I've  got  a  theory  that  some- 
body was  in  that  wagon  with  Frank,  and  drove 
on  a  ways  before  he  jumped  out.  I  believe  if 
you'd  put  that  dog  on  the  trail " 

"  If  I  put  that  dog  on  the  trail  he  stays  on  the 
trail  all  day,  maybe,"  Swan  averred  with  some 
pride.  "By  golly,  he  follows  a  coyote  till  he 
drops." 

"Well,  it's  a  coyote  we're  after  now,"  said 
Lone.  "A  sheep-killer  that  has  made  his  last 
killin'.  Eight  here's  where  I  rode  up  and  caught 
the  team,  last  night.  We  better  take  a  look 
along  here  for  tracks." 

Swan  stared  at  him  curiously,  but  he  did  not 
speak,  and  the  two  went  on  more  slowly,  their 
glances  roving  here  and  there  along  the  trail 
edge,  looking  for  footprints.  Once  the  dog  Jack 
swung  off  the  trail  into  the  brush,  and  Swan  fol- 


194  THE  QUIRT 

lowed  him  while  Lone  stopped  and  awaited  the 
result.  Swan  came  back  presently,  with  Jack 
sulking  at  his  heels. 

"  Yack,  he  take  up  the  trail  of  a  coyote,"  Swan 
explained,  "  but  it's  got  the  four  legs,  and  Yack, 
he  don't  understand  me  when  I  don't  follow.  He 
thinks  I'm  crazy  this  morning." 

"  I  reckon  the  team  came  on  toward  home  after 
the  fellow  jumped  out,"  Lone  observed.  "  He'd 
plan  that  way,  seems  to  me.  I  know  I  would." 

"  I  guess  that's  right.  I  don't  have  experience 
in  killing  somebody,"  Swan  returned  blandly, 
and  Lone  was  too  preoccupied  to  wonder  at  the 
unaccustomed  sarcasm. 

A  little  farther  along  Swan  swooped  down 
upon  a  blue  dotted  handkerchief  of  the  kind 
which  men  find  so  useful  where  laundries  are  but 
a  name.  Again  Lone  stopped  and  bent  to  ex- 
amine it  as  Swan  spread  it  out  in  his  hands.  A 
few  tiny  grains  of  sandstone  rattled  out,  and  in 
the  center  was  a  small  blood  spot.  Swan  looked 
up  straight  into  Lone's  dark,  brooding  eyes. 

"  By  golly,  Lone,  you  would  do  that,  too,  if  you 
kill  somebody,"  he  began  in  a  new  tone, — the  tone 
which  Lorraine  had  heard  indistinctly  in  the 
bunk-house  when  Swan  was  talking  to  the  doctor. 


SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE     195 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  a  damn  fool,  just  because  I'm 
a  Swede?  You  are  smart — you  think  out  every 
little  thing.  But  you  make  a  big  mistake  if  you 
don't  think  some  one  else  may  be  using  his  brain, 
too.  This  handkerchief  I  have  seen  you  pull 
from  your  pocket  too  many  times.  And  it  had  a 
rock  in  it  last  night,  and  the  blood  shows  that  it 
was  used  to  hit  Frank  behind  the  ear.  You  think 
it  all  out — but  maybe  I've  been  thinking  too. 
Now  you're  under  arrest.  Just  stay  on  your 
horse — he  can't  run  faster  than  a  bullet,  and  I 
don't  miss  coyotes  when  I  shoot  them  on  the  run." 

"  The  hell  you  say ! "  Lone  stared  at  him. 
"  Where's  your  authority,  Swan?  " 

Swan  lifted  the  rifle  to  a  comfortable,  firing 
position,  the  muzzle  pointing  straight  at  Lone's 
chest.  With  his  left  hand  he  turned  back  his 
coat  and  disclosed  a  badge  pinned  to  the  lining. 

"I'm  a  United  States  Marshal,  that's  all;  a 
government  hunter,"  he  stated.  "  I'm  hot  on  the 
trail  of  coyotes — all  kinds.  Throw  that  six- 
shooter  over  there  in  the  brush,  will  you?  " 

"  I  hate  to  get  the  barrel  all  sanded  up,"  Lone 
objected  mildly.  "  You  can  pack  it,  can't  you?  " 
He  grinned  a  little  as  he  handed  out  the  gun, 
muzzle  toward  himself.  "  You're  playing  safe, 


196  THE  QUIRT 

Swan,  but  if  that  dog  of  yours  is  any  good,  you'll 
have  a  change  of  heart  pretty  quick.  Isn't  that  a 
man's  track,  just  beside  that  flat  rock?  Put  the 
dog  on,  why  don't  you?  " 

"  Yack  is  on  already,"  Swan  pointed  out. 
"  Eide  ahead  of  me,  Lone." 

With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  Lone  obeyed, 
following  the  dog  as  it  trotted  through  the  brush 
on  the  trail  of  a  man's  footprints  which  Swan 
had  shown  it.  A  man  might  have  had  some  trou- 
ble in  keeping  to  the  trail,  but  Jack  trotted  easily 
along  and  never  once  seemed  at  fault.  In  a  very 
few  minutes  he  stopped  in  a  rocky  depression 
where  a  horse  had  been  tied,  and  waited  for 
Swan,  wagging  his  tail  and  showing  his  teeth  in 
a  panting  smile.  The  man  he  had  trailed  had 
mounted  and  ridden  toward  the  ridge  to  the  west. 
Swan  examined  the  tracks,  and  Lone  sat  on  his 
horse  watching  him. 

Jack  picked  up  the  trail  where  the  horseman 
had  walked  away  toward  the  road,  and  Swan  fol- 
lowed him,  motioning  Lone  to  ride  ahead. 

"  You  could  tell  me  about  this,  I  think,  but  I 
can  find  out  for  myself,"  he  observed,  glancing  at 
Lone  briefly. 

"  Sure,  you  can  find  out,  if  you  use  your  eyes 


SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE     197 

and  do  a  little  thinking,"  Lone  replied.  "  I  hope 
you  do  lay  the  evidence  on  the  right  doorstep." 

"  I  will,"  Swan  promised,  looking  ahead  to 
where  Jack  was  nosing  his  way  through  the  sage- 
brush. 

They  brought  up  at  the  edge  of  the  road  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  nearer  Echo  than  the  place 
where  Frank's  body  had  been  found.  They  saw 
where  the  man  had  climbed  into  the  wagon,  and 
followed  to  where  they  had  found  Frank  beside 
the  road,  lying  just  as  he  had  pitched  forward 
from  the  wagon  seat. 

"  I  think,"  said  Swan  quietly,  "  we  will  go  now 
and  find  out  where  that  horse  went  last  night." 

"  A  good  idea,"  Lone  agreed.  "  Do  you  see 
how  it  was  done,  Swan?  When  he  saw  the  team 
coming,  away  back  toward  Echo,  he  rode  down 
into  that  wash  and  tied  his  horse.  He  was  walk- 
ing when  Frank  overtook  him,  I  reckon — maybe 
claiming  his  horse  had  broke  away  from  him. 
He  had  a  rock  in  his  handkerchief.  Frank 
stopped  and  gave  him  a  lift,  and  he  used  the  rock 
first  chance  he  got.  Then  I  reckon  he  stuck  the 
whisky  bottle  in  Frank's  pocket  and  heaved  him 
out.  He  dropped  the  handkerchief  out  of  his  hip 
pocket  when  he  jumped  out  of  the  rig.  It's  right. 


198  THE  QUIRT 

simple,  and  if  folks  didn't  get  to  wondering  about 
it,  it'd  be  safe  as  any  killing  can  be.  As  safe," 
lie  added  meaningly,  "as  dragging  Fred  Thur- 
man,  or  unhooking  Brit's  chain-lock  before  he 
started  down  the  canyon  with  his  load  of  posts." 

Swan  did  not  answer,  but  turned  back  to  where 
the  horse  had  been  left  tied  and  took  up  the  trail 
from  there.  As  before,  the  dog  trotted  along, 
Lone  riding  close  behind  him  and  Swan  striding 
after.  They  did  not  really  need  the  dog,  for  the 
hoofprints  were  easily  followed  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  way. 

They  had  gone  perhaps  four  miles  when  Lone 
turned,  resting  a  hand  on  the  cantle  of  his  saddle 
while  he  looked  back  at  Swan.  "  You  see  where 
he  was  headed  for,  don't  yuh,  Swan?  "  he  asked, 
his  tone  as  friendly  as  though  he  was  not  under 
arrest  as  a  murderer.  "  If  he  didn't  go  to  Whis- 
per, I'll  eat  my  hat." 

"  You're  the  man  to  know,"  Swan  retorted 
grimly.  And  then,  because  Lone's  horse  had 
slowed  in  a  long  climb  over  a  ridge,  he  came  up 
even  with  a  stirrup.  "  Lone,  I  hate  to  do  it.  I'd 
like  you,  if  you  don't  kill  for  a  living.  But  for 
that  I  could  shoot  you  quick  as  a  coyote.  You're 
smart — but  not  smart  enough.  You  gave  your- 


SWAN  TRAILS  A  COYOTE     199 

self  away  when  I  showed  you  Fred's  saddle. 
After  that  I  knew  who  was  the  Sawtooth  killer 
that  I  came  here  to  find." 

"  You  thought  you  knew,"  Lone  corrected 
calmly. 

"  You  don't  have  to  lie,"  Swan  informed  him 
bluntly.  "You  don't  have  to  tell  anything.  I 
find  out  for  myself  if  I  make  mistake." 

"  Go  to  it,"  Lone  advised  him  coldly.  "  It 
don't  make  a  darn  bit  of  difference  to  me  whether 
I  ride  in  front  of  you  or  behind.  I'm  so  glad 
you're  here  on  the  job,  Swan,  that  I'm  plumb 
willing  to  be  tied  hand  and  foot  if  it'll  help  you 
any." 

"When  a  man's  too  damn  willing  to  be  my 
prisoner,"  Swan  observed  seriously,  "  he  gets 
tied,  all  right.  Put  out  your  hands,  Lone.  You 
look  good  to  me  with  bracelets  on,  when  you  talk 
so  willing  to  go  to  jail  for  murder." 

He  had  slipped  the  rifle  butt  to  the  ground,  and 
before  Lone  quite  realized  what  he  was  doing 
Swan  had  a  short,  wicked-looking  automatic  pis- 
tol in  one  hand  and  a  pair  of  handcuffs  in  the 
other.  Lone  flushed,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  hold  out  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

THE  SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND 

IN  her  fictitious  West  Lorraine  had  long  since 
come  to  look  upon  violence  as  a  synonym  for 
picturesqueness ;  murder  and  mystery  were  in- 
evitably an  accompaniment  of  chaps  and  spurs. 
But  when  a  man  she  had  cooked  breakfast  for, 
had  talked  with  just  a  few  hours  ago,  lay  dead  in 
the  bunk-house,  she  forgot  that  it  was  merely  an 
expected  incident  of  Western  life.  She  lay  in 
her  bed  shaking  with  nervous  dread,  and  the 
shrill  rasping  of  the  crickets  and  tree-toads  was 
unendurable. 

After  the  first  shock  had  passed  a  deep,  fight- 
ing rage  filled  her,  made  her  long  for  day  so  that 
she  might  fight  back  somehow.  Who  was  the 
Sawtooth  Company,  that  they  could  sweep  hu- 
man beings  from,  their  path  so  ruthlessly  and 
never  be  called  to  account?  Not  once  did  she 
doubt  that  this  was  the  doing  of  the  Sawtooth, 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    201 

another  carefully  planned  "  accident "  calculated 
to  rid  the  country  of  another  man  who  in  some 
fashion  had  become  inimical  to  their  interests. 

From  Lone  she  had  learned  a  good  deal  about 
the  new  irrigation  project  which  lay  very  close  to 
the  Sawtooth's  heart.  She  could  see  how  the 
Quirt  ranch,  with  its  water  rights  and  its  big, 
fertile  meadows  and  its  fences  and  silent  disap- 
probation of  the  Sawtooth's  methods,  might  be 
looked  upon  as  an  obstacle  which  they  would  be 
glad  to  remove. 

That  her  father  had  been  sent  down  that  grade 
with  a  brake  deliberately  made  useless  was  a  hor- 
rible thought  which  she  could  not  put  from  her 
mind.  She  had  thought  and  thought  until  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  knew  exactly  how  and  why 
the  killer's  plans  had  gone  awry.  She  was  cer- 
tain that  she  and  Swan  had  prevented  him  from 
climbing  down  into  the  canyon  and  making  sure 
that  her  dad  did  not  live  to  tell  what  mischance 
had  overtaken  him.  He  had  probably  been  watch- 
ing while  she  and  Swan  made  that  stretcher  and 
carried  her  dad  away  out  of  his  reach.  He  would 
not  shoot  her, — he  would  not  dare.  Nor  would 
he  dare  come  to  the  cabin  and  finish  the  job  he 
had  begun.  But  he  had  managed  to  kill  Frank — 


202  THE  QUIRT 

poor  old  Frank,  who  would  never  grumble  and 
argue  over  little  things  again. 

There  was  nothing  picturesque,  nothing  adven- 
turous about  it.  It  was  just  straight,  heart- 
breaking tragedy,  that  had  its  sordid  side  too. 
Her  dad  was  a  querulous  sick  man  absorbed  by 
his  sufferings  and  not  yet  out  of  danger,  if  she 
read  the  doctor's  face  aright.  Jim  and  Sorry 
had  taken  orders  all  their  life,  and  they  would 
not  be  able  to  handle  the  ranch  work  alone ;  yet 
how  else  would  it  be  done?  There  was  Lone, — 
instinctively  she  turned  her  thoughts  to  him  for 
comfort.  Lone  would  stay  and  help,  and  some- 
how it  would  be  managed. 

But  to  think  that  these  things  could  be  done 
without  fear  of  retribution.  Jim  and  Sorry, 
Swan  and  Lone  had  not  attempted  to  hide  their 
belief  that  the  Sawtooth  was  responsible  for 
Frank's  death,  yet  not  one  of  them  had  hinted  at 
the  possibility  of  calling  the  sheriff,  or  placing 
the  blame  where  it  belonged.  They  seemed  brow- 
beaten into  the  belief  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
fight  back.  They  seemed  to  look  upon  the  doings 
of  the  Sawtooth  as  an  act  of  Providence,  like  be- 
ing struck  by  lightning  or  freezing  to  death,  as 
men  sometimes  did  in  that  country. 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    203 

To  Lorraine  that  passive  submission  was  the 
most  intolerable  part,  the  one  thing  she  could  not, 
would  not  endure.  Had  she  lived  all  of  her  life 
on  the  Quirt,  she  probably  would  never  have 
thought  of  fighting  back  and  would  have  accepted 
conditions  just  as  her  dad  seemed  to  accept  them. 
But  her  mimic  West  had  taught  her  that  women 
sometimes  dared  where  the  men  had  hesitated. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  should  submit 
to  the  inevitable  just  because  the  men  appeared 
to  do  so. 

Wherefore  it  was  a  new  Lorraine  who  rose  at 
daybreak  and  silently  cooked  breakfast  for  the 
men,  learned  from  Jim  that  Sorry  was  not  back 
from  Echo,  and  that  Swan  and  Lone  had  gone 
down  to  the  place  where  Frank  had  been  found. 
She  poured  Jim's  coffee  and  went  on  her  tiptoes 
to  see  if  her  father  still  slept.  She  dreaded  his 
awakening  and  the  moment  when  she  must  tell 
him  about  Frank,  and  she  had  an  unreasonable 
hope  that  the  news  might  be  kept  from  him  until 
the  doctor  came  again. 

Brit  was  awake,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes 
frightened  Lorraine  so  that  she  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  staring  at  him  fasci- 
nated. 


204  THE  QUIRT 

"  WeU,"  he  said  flatly,  "  who  is  it  this  time? 
Lone,  or — Frank?  " 

"  Why — who  is  what?  "  Lorraine  parried  awk- 
wardly. "  I  don't " 

"  Did  they  git  Frank,  las'  night?  "  Brit's  eyes 
seemed  to  bore  into  her  soul,  searching  pitilessly 
for  the  truth.  "  Don't  lie  to  me,  Raine — it  ain't 
going  to  help  any.  Was  it  Frank  or  Lone? 
They's  a  dead  man  laid  out  on  this  ranch.  Who 
is  it?  " 

"  F-frank,"  Lorraine  stammered,  backing  away 
from  him.  "  H-how  did  you  know?  " 

"  How  did  it  happen?  "  Brit's  eyes  were  ter- 
rible. 

Lorraine  shuddered  while  she  told  him. 

"  Rabbits  in  a  trap,"  Brit  muttered,  staring  at 
the  low  ceiling.  "  Can't  prove  nothing — couldn't 
convict  anybody  if  we  could  prove  it.  Bill  War- 
field's  got  this  county  under  his  thumb.  Babbits 
in  a  trap.  Raine,  you  better  pack  up  and  go 
home  to  your  mother.  There's  goin'  to  be  hell 
a-poppin'  if  I  live  to  git  outa  this  bed." 

Lorraine  stooped  over  him,  and  her  eyes  were 
almost  as  terrible  as  were  Brit's.  "  Let  it  pop. 
We  aren't  quitters,  are  we,  dad?  I'm  going  to 
stay  with  you."  Then  she  saw  tears  spilling  over 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    205 

Brit's  eyelids  and  left  the  room  hurriedly,  fight- 
ing back  a  storm  of  weeping.  She  herself  could 
not  mourn  for  Frank  with  any  sense  of  great  per- 
sonal loss,  but  it  was  different  with  her  dad.  He 
and  Frank  had  lived  together  for  so  many  years 
that  his  loyal  heart  ached  with  grief  for  that 
surly,  faithful  old  partner  of  his. 

But  Lorraine's  fighting  blood  was  up,  and  she 
could  not  waste  time  in  weeping.  She  drank  a 
cup  of  coffee,  went  out  and  called  Jim,  and  told 
him  that  she  was  going  to  take  a  ride,  and  that 
she  wanted  a  decent  horse. 

"  You  can  take  mine,"  Jim  offered.  "  He's 
gentle  and  easy-gaited.  I'll  go  saddle  up.  When 
do  you  want  to  go?  " 

"  Right  now,  as  soon  as  I'm  ready.  I'll  fix 
dad's  breakfast,  and  you  can  look  after  him  until 
Lone  and  Swan  come  back.  One  of  them  will 
stay  with  him  then.  I  may  be  gone  for  three  or 
four  hours.  I'll  go  crazy  if  I  stay  here  any 
longer." 

Jim  eyed  her  while  he  bit  off  a  chew  of  tobacco. 
"  It'd  be  a  good  thing  if  you  had  some  neighbor 
woman  come  in  and  stay  with  yuh,"  he  said 
slowly.  "But  there  ain't  any  I  can  think  of 
that'd  be  much  force.  You  take  Snake  and  ride 


206  THE  QUIRT 

around  close  and  forget  things  for  awhile."  He 
hesitated,  his  hand  moving  slowly  back  to  his 
pocket.  "  If  yuh  feel  like  you  want  a  gun " 

Lorraine  laughed  bitterly.  "  You  don't  think 
any  accident  would  happen  to  me,  do  you?  " 

"Well,  no — er  I  wouldn't  advise  yuh  to  go 
ridin',"  Jim  said  thoughtfully.  "  This  here  gun's 
kinda  techy,  anyway,  unless  you're  used  to  a 
quick  trigger.  Yuh  might  be  safer  without  it 
than  with  it." 

By  the  time  she  was  ready,  Jim  was  tying  his 
horse,  Snake,  to  the  corral.  Lorraine  walked 
slowly  past  the  bunk-house  with  her  face  turned 
from  it  and  her  thoughts  dwelling  terrifiedly 
upon  what  lay  within.  Once  she  was  past  she 
began  running,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  outrun 
her  thoughts.  Jim  watched  her  gravely,  untied 
Snake  and  stood  at  his  head  while  she  mounted, 
then  walked  ahead  of  her  to  the  gate  and  opened 
it  for  her. 

"  Yore  nerves  are  sure  shot  to  hell,"  he  blurted 
sympathetically  as  she  rode  past  him.  "  I  guess 
you  need  a  ride,  all  right.  Snake's  plumb  safe, 
so  yuh  got  no  call  to  worry  about  him.  Take  it 
easy,  Raine,  on  the  worrying.  That's  about  the 
worst  thing  you  can  do." 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    207 

Lorraine  gave  him  a  grateful  glance  and  a 
faint  attempt  at  a  smile,  and  rode  up  the  trail  she 
always  took, — the  trail  where  she  had  met  Lone 
that  day  when  he  returned  her  purse,  the  trail 
that  led  to  Fred  Thurman's  ranch  and  to 
Sugar  Spring  and,  if  you  took  a  certain  turn 
at  a  certain  place,  to  Granite  Eidge  and  be- 
yond. 

Up  on  the  ridge  nearest  the  house  Al  Woodruff 
shifted  his  position  so  that  he  could  watch  her  go. 
He  had  been  watching  Lone  and  Swan  and  the 
dog,  trailing  certain  tracks  through  the  sage- 
brush down  below,  and  when  Lorraine  rode  away 
from  the  Quirt  they  were  in  the  wagon  road, 
fussing  around  the  place  where  Frank  had  been 
found. 

"  They  can't  pin  nothing  on  me,"  Al  tried  to 
comfort  himself.  "  If  that  damn  girl  would  keep 
her  mouth  shut  I  could  stand  a  trial,  even.  They 
ain't  got  any  evidence  whatever,  unless  she  saw 
me  at  Rock  City  that  night."  He  turned  and 
looked  again  toward  the  two  men  down  on  the 
road  and  tilted  his  mouth  down  at  the  corners  in 
a  sour  grin. 

"  Go  to  it  and  be  damned  to  you ! "  he  muttered. 
"  You  haven't  got  the  dope,  and  you  can't  git  it, 


208  THE  QUIRT 

either.  Trail  that  horse  if  you  want  to — I'd  like 
to  see  yuh  amuse  yourselves  that  way !  " 

He  turned  again  to  stare  after  Lorraine,  medi- 
tating deeply.  If  she  had  only  been  a  man,  he 
would  have  known  exactly  how  to  still  her 
tongue,  but  he  had  never  before  been  called  upon 
to  deal  with  the  problem  of  keeping  a  woman 
quiet.  He  saw  that  she  was  taking  the  trail 
toward  Fred  Thurman's,  and  that  she  was  riding 
swiftly,  as  if  she  had  some  errand  in  that  direc- 
tion, something  urgent.  Al  was  very  adept  at 
reading  men's  moods  and  intentions  from  small 
details  in  their  behavior.  He  had  seen  Lorraine 
start  on  several  leisurely,  purposeless  rides,  and 
her  changed  manner  held  a  significance  which  he 
did  not  attempt  to  belittle. 

He  led  his  horse  down  the  side  of  the  ridge  op- 
posite the  road  and  the  house,  mounted  there  and 
rode  away  after  Lorraine,  keeping  parallel  with 
the  trail  but  never  using  it,  as  was  his  habit.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  overtake  her,  and  not  once 
did  Lorraine  glimpse  him  or  suspect  that  she  was 
being  followed.  Al  knew  well  the  art  of  con- 
cealing his  movements  and  his  proximity  from 
the  inquisitive  eyes  of  another  man's  saddle 
horse,  and  Snake  had  no  more  suspicion  than  his 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    209 

rider  that  they  were  not  altogether  alone  that 
morning. 

Lorraine  sent  him  over  the  trail  at  a  pace 
which  Jim  had  long  since  reserved  for  emergen- 
cies. But  Snake  appeared  perfectly  able  and 
willing  to  hold  it  and  never  stumbled  or  slowed 
unexpectedly  as  did  Yellowjacket,  wherefore  Lor- 
raine rode  faster  than  she  would  have  done  had 
she  known  more  about  horses. 

Still,  Snake  held  his  own  better  than  even  Jim 
would  have  believed,  and  carried  Lorraine  up 
over  Granite  Ridge  and  down  into  the  Sawtooth 
flat  almost  as  quickly  as  Lorraine  expected  him 
to  do.  She  came  up  to  the  Sawtooth  ranch- 
houses  with  Snake  in  a  lather  of  sweat  and  with 
her  own  determination  unweakened  to  carry  the 
war  into  the  camp  of  her  enemy.  It  was,  she 
firmly  believed,  what  should  have  been  done  long 
ago ;  what  would  have  curbed  effectually  the  arro- 
gant powers  of  the  Sawtooth. 

She  glanced  at  the  foreman's  cottage  only  to 
make  sure  that  Hawkins  was  nowhere  in  sight 
there,  and  rode  on  toward  the  corrals,  intercept-, 
ing  Hawkins  and  a  large,  well-groomed,  smooth- 
faced man  whom  she  knew  at  once  must  be  Sen- 
ator Warfield  himself.  Unconsciously  Lorraine 


210  THE  QUIRT 

mentally  fitted  herself  into  a  dramatic  movie 
"  scene  "  and  plunged  straight  into  the  subject. 

"  There  has  been,"  she  said  tensely,  "  another 
Sawtooth  accident.  It  worked  better  than  the 
last  one,  when  my  father  was  sent  over  the  grade 
into  Spirit  Canyon.  Frank  Johnson  is  dead.  I 
am  here  to  discover  what  you  are  going  to  do 
about  it?  "  Her  eyes  were  flashing,  her  chest 
was  rising  and  falling  rapidly  when  she  had  fin- 
ished. She  looked  straight  into  Senator  War- 
field's  face,  her  own  full  in  the  sunlight,  so  that, 
had  there  been  a  camera  "  shooting  "  the  scene, 
her  expression  would  have  been  fully  revealed — 
though  she  did  not  realize  all  that. 

Senator  Warfield  looked  her  over  calmly  (just 
as  a  director  would  have  wished  him  to  do)  and 
turned  to  Hawkins.  "  Who  is  this  girl? "  he 
asked.  "  Is  she  the  one  who  came  here  tempo- 
rarily— deranged?  " 

"  She's  the  girl,"  Hawkins  affirmed,  his  eyes 
everywhere  but  on  Lorraine's  face.  "  Brit  Hunt- 
er's daughter — they  say." 

"They  say?  I  am  his  daughter!  How  dare 
you  take  that  tone,  Mr.  Hawkins?  My  home  is 
at  the  Quirt.  When  you  strike  at  the  Quirt  you 
strike  at  me.  When  you  strike  at  me  I  am  going 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    211 

to  strike  back.  Since  I  came  here  two  men  have 
been  killed  and  my  father  has  been  nearly  killed. 
He  may  die  yet — I  don't  know  what  effect  this 
shock  will  have  upon  him.  But  I  know  that 
Frank  is  dead,  and  that  it's  up  to  me  now  to  see 
that  justice  is  done.  You — you  cowards!  You 
will  kill  a  man  for  the  sake  of  a  few  dollars,  but 
you  kill  in  the  dark.  You  cover  your  murders 
under  the  pretense  of  accidents.  I  want  to  tell 
you  this:  Of  all  the  men  you  have  murdered, 
Frank  Johnson  will  be  avenged.  You  are  going 
to  answer  for  that.  I  shall  see  that  you  do  an- 
swer for  it!  There  is  justice  in  this  country, 
there  must  be.  I'm  going  to  demand  that  justice 
shall  be  measured  out  to  you.  I " 

"  Was  she  violent,  before?  "  Senator  Warfleld 
asked  Hawkins  in  an  undertone  which  Lorraine 
heard  distinctly.  "You're  a  deputy,  Hawkins. 
If  this  keeps  on,  I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  take 
her  in  and  have  her  committed  for  insanity.  It's 
a  shame,  poor  thing.  At  her  age  it  is  pitiful. 
Look  how  she  has  ridden  that  horse!  Another 
mile  would  have  finished  him." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  I'm  crazy? 
What  an  idea!  It  seems  to  me,  Senator  War- 
field,  that  you  are  crazy  yourself,  to  imagine  that 


212  THE  QUIRT 

you  can  go  on  killing  people  and  thinking  you 
will  never  have  to  pay  the  penalty.  You  will 
pay.  There  is  law  in  this  land,  even  if " 

"  This  is  pathetic,"  said  Senator  Warfield,  still 
speaking  to  Hawkins.  "  Her  father — if  he  is  her 
father — is  sick  and  not  able  to  take  care  of  her. 
We'll  have  to  assume  the  responsibility  ourselves, 
I'm  afraid,  Hawkins.  She  may  harm  herself, 
or " 

Lorraine  turned  white.  She  had  never  seen 
just  such  a  situation  arise  in  a  screen  story,  but 
she  knew  what  danger  might  lie  in  being  accused 
of  insanity.  While  Warfleld  was  speaking,  she 
had  a  swift  vision  of  the  evidence  they  could  bring 
against  her ;  how  she  had  arrived  there  delirious 
after  having  walked  out  from  Echo, — why,  they 
would  call  even  that  a  symptom  of  insanity! 
Lone  had  warned  her  of  what  people  would  say 
if  she  told  any  one  of  what  she  saw  in  Kock  City, 
perhaps  really  believing  that  she  had  imagined  it 
all.  Lone  might  even  think  that  she  had  some 
mental  twist!  Her  world  was  reeling  around 
her. 

She  whirled  Snake  on  his  hind  feet,  struck  him 
sharply  with  the  quirt  and  was  galloping  back 
over  the  trail  past  the  Hawkins  house  before 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    213 

Senator  Warfield  had  finished  advising  Hawkins. 
She  saw  Mrs.  Hawkins  standing  in  the  door,  star- 
ing at  her,  but  she  did  not  stop.  They  would 
take  her  to  the  asylum;  she  felt  that  the  Saw- 
tooth had  the  power,  that  she  had  played  directly 
into  their  hands,  and  that  they  would  be  as  ruth- 
less in  dealing  with  her  as  they  had  been  with  the 
nesters  whom  they  had  killed.  She  knew  it,  she 
had  read  it  in  the  inscrutable,  level  look  of  Sen- 
ator Warfield,  in  the  half  cringing,  wholly  sub- 
servient manner  of  Hawkins  when  he  listened  to 
his  master. 

"  They're  fiends !  "  she  cried  aloud  once,  while 
she  urged  Snake  up  the  slope  of  Granite  Kidge. 
"  I  believe  they'd  kill  me  if  they  were  sure  they 
could  get  away  with  it.  But  they  could  frame 
an  insanity  charge  and  put  me — my  God,  what 
fiends  they  are !  " 

At  the  Sawtooth,  Senator  Warfield  was  talking 
with  Mrs.  Hawkins  while  her  husband  saddled 
two  horses.  Mrs.  Hawkins  lived  within  her  four 
walls  and  called  that  her  "  spere,"  and  spoke  of 
her  husband  as  "he."  You  know  the  type  of 
woman.  That  Senator  Warfield  was  anything 
less  than  a  godlike  man  who  stood  very  high  on 
the  ladder  of  Fame,  she  would  never  believe.  So 


214  THE  QUIRT 

she  related  garrulously  certain  incoherent,  aim- 
less utterances  of  Lorraine's,  and  cried  a  little, 
and  thought  it  was  perfectly  awful  that  a  sweet, 
pretty  girl  like  that  should  be  crazy.  She  would 
have  made  an  ideal  witness  against  Lorraine,  her 
very  sympathy  carrying  conviction  of  Lorraine's 
need  of  it.  That  she  did  not  convince  Senator 
Warfield  of  Lorraine's  mental  derangement  was 
a  mere  detail.  Senator  Warfield  had  reasons  for 
knowing  that  Lorraine  was  merely  afflicted  with 
a  dangerous  amount  of  knowledge  and  was  using 
it  without  discretion. 

"  You  mustn't  let  her  run  loose  and  maybe  kill 
herself  or  somebody  else ! "  Mrs.  Hawkins  ex- 
claimed. "  Oh,  Senator,  it's  awful  to  think  of ! 
When  she  went  past  the  house  I  knew  the  poor 
thing  wasn't  right " 

"We'll  overtake  her,"  Senator  Warfield  as- 
sured her  comfortingly.  "  She  can't  go  very  far 
on  that  horse.  She'd  ridden  him  half  to  death, 
getting  here.  He  won't  hold  out — he  can't.  She 
came  here,  I  suppose,  because  she  had  been  here 
before.  A  sanitarium  may  be  able  to  restore  her 
to  a  normal  condition.  I  can't  believe  it's  any- 
thing more  than  some  nervous  disorder.  Now 
don't  worry,  my  good  woman.  Just  have  a  room 


SAWTOOTH  SHOWS  ITS  HAND    215 

ready,  so  that  she  will  be  comfortable  here  until 
we  can  get  her  to  a  sanitarium.  It  isn't  hope- 
less, I  assure  you — but  I'm  mighty  glad  I  hap- 
pened to  be  here  so  that  I  can  take  charge  of  the 
case.  Now  here  comes  Hawkins.  We'll  bring 
her  back — don't  you  worry." 

"  Well,  take  her  away  as  quick  as  you  can,  Sen- 
ator. I'm  scared  of  crazy  people.  His  brother 
went  crazy  in  our  house  and " 

"  Yes,  yes — we'll  take  care  of  her.  Poor  girl, 
I  wish  that  I  had  been  here  when  she  first  came," 
said  the  senator,  as  he  went  to  meet  Hawkins, 
who  was  riding  up  from  the  corrals  leading  two 
horses — one  for  Lorraine,  which  shows  what  was 
his  opinion  of  Snake. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

YACK  DON'T  LIB 

FOR  a  time  the  trail  seemed  to  lead  toward 
Whisper.  Then  it  turned  away  and  seemed 
about  to  end  abruptly  on  a  flat  outcropping  of 
rock  two  miles  from  Whisper  camp.  Lone 
frowned  and  stared  at  the  ground,  and  Swan 
spoke  sharply  to  Jack,  who  was  nosing  back  and 
forth,  at  fault  if  ever  a  dog  was.  But  presently 
he  took  up  the  scent  and  led  them  down  a  barren 
slope  and  into  grassy  ground  where  a  bunch  of 
horses  grazed  contentedly.  Jack  singled  out  one 
and  ran  toward  it  silently,  as  he  had  done  all  his 
trailing  that  morning.  The  horse  looked  up, 
stared  and  went  galloping  down  the  little  valley, 
stampeding  the  others  with  him. 

"  That's  about  where  I  thought  we'd  wind  up — 
in  a  saddle  bunch,"  Lone  observed  disgustedly. 
"  If  I  had  the  evidence  you're  carrying  in  your 
pocket,  Swan,  I'd  put  that  darn  dog  on  tke  scent 
of  the  man,  not  the  horse." 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  217 

"  The  man  I've  got,"  Swan  retorted.  "  I  don't 
have  to  trail  him." 

"  Well,  now,  you  think  you've  got  him.  Here's 
good,  level  ground — I  couldn't  get  outa  sight  in 
less  than  ten  minutes,  afoot.  Let  me  walk  out  a 
ways,  and  you  see  if  that  handkerchief's  mine. 
Oh,  search  me  all  you  want  to,  first,"  he  added, 
when  he  read  the  suspicion  in  Swan's  eyes. 
"  Make  yourself  safe  as  yuh  please,  but  give  me 
a  fair  show.  You've  made  up  your  mind  I'm  the 
killer,  and  you've  been  fitting  the  evidence  to 
me — or  trying  to." 

"  It  fits,"  Swan  pointed  out  drily. 

"  You  see  if  it  does.  The  dog'll  tell  you  all 
about  it  in  about  two  minutes  if  you  give  him  a 
chance." 

Swan  looked  at  him.  "Yack  don't  lie.  By 
golly,  I  raised  that  dog  to  trail,  and  he  trails,  you 
bet!  He's  cocker  spaniel  and  bloodhound,  and 
he  knows  things,  that  dog.  All  right,  Lone,  you 
walk  over  to  that  black  rock  and  set  down.  If 
you  think  you  frame. something,  maybe,  I  pack  a 
dead  man  to  the  Quirt  again." 

"You  can,  for  all  me,"  Lone  replied  quietly. 
"  I'd  about  as  soon  go  that  way  as  the  way  I  am 
now." 


218  THE  QUIRT 

Swan  watched  him  until  he  was  seated  on  the 
rock  as  directed,  his  manacled  hands  resting  on 
his  knees,  his  face  turned  toward  the  horses. 
Then  Swan  took  the  blue  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  called  Jack  to  him  and  muttered  some- 
thing in  Swedish  while  the  dog  sniffed  at  the 
cloth.  "  Find  him,  Yack,"  said  Swan,  standing 
straight  again. 

Jack  went  sniffing  obediently  in  wide  circles, 
crossing  unconcernedly  Lone's  footprints  while 
he  trotted  back  and  forth.  He  hesitated  once  on 
the  trail  of  the  horse  he  had  followed,  stopped 
and  looked  at  Swan  inquiringly,  and  whined. 
Swan  whistled  the  dog  to  him  with  a  peculiar, 
birdlike  note  and  called  to  Lone. 

"  You  come  back,  Lone,  and  let  Yack  take  a 
damn  good  smell  of  you.  By  golly,  if  that  dog 
lies  to  me  this  time,  I  lick  him  good ! " 

Lone  came  back,  grinning  a  little.  "  All  right, 
now  maybe  you'll  listen  to  reason.  I  ain't  the 
kind  to  tell  all  I  know  and  some  besides,  Swan. 
I've  been  a  Sawtooth  man,  and  a  fellow  kinda 
hates  to  throw  down  his  outfit  deliberate.  But 
they're  going  too  strong  for  any  white  man  to 
stand  for.  I  quit  them  when  they  tried  to  get 
Brit  Hunter.  I  don't  know  so  much,  Swan,  but 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  219 

I'm  pretty  good  at  guessing.  So  if  you'll  come 
with  me  to  Whisper,  your  dog  may  show  yuh  who 
owns  that  handkerchief.  If  he  don't,  then  I'm 
making  a  mistake,  and  I'd  like  to  be  set  right." 

"  Somebody  rode  that  horse,"  Swan  meditated 
aloud.  "  Yack  don't  make  a  mistake  like  that, 
and  I  don't  think  I'm  blind.  Where's  the  man 
that  was  on  the  horse?  What  you  think, 
Lone?  " 

"  Me?  I  think  there  was  another  horse  some- 
where close  to  that  outcropping,  tied  to  a  bush, 
maybe.  I  think  the  man  you're  after  changed 
horses  there,  just  on  a  chance  that  somebody 
might  trail  him  from  the  road.  You  put  your 
dog  on  the  trail  of  that  one  particular  horse,  and 
he  showed  yuh  where  it  was  feeding  with  the 
bunch.  It  looks  to  me  like  it  was  turned  loose, 
back  there,  and  come  on  alone.  Your  man  went 
to  Whisper ;  I'll  bank  money  on  that.  Anyway, 
your  dog'll  know  if  he's  been  there." 

Swan  thought  it  over,  his  eyes  moving  here  and 
there  to  every  hint  of  movement  between  the  sky- 
line and  himself.  Suddenly  he  turned  to  Lone, 
his  face  flushing  with  honest  shame. 

"  Loney,  take  a  damn  Swede  and  give  him 
something  he  believes,  and  you  could  pull  his 


220  THE  QUIRT 

teeth  before  you  pull  that  notion  from  his  thick 
head.  You  acted  funny,  that  day  Fred  Thurman 
was  killed,  and  you  gave  yourself  away  at  the 
stable  when  I  showed  you  that  saddle.  So  I 
think  you're  the  killer,  and  I  keep  on  thinking 
that,  and  I've  been  trying  to  catch  you  with  evi- 
dence. I'm  a  Swede,  all  right!  Square  head. 
Built  of  wood  two  inches  thick.  Loney,  you  kick 
me  good.  You  don't  have  time  to  ride  over  here, 
get  some  other  horse  and  ride  back  to  the  Quirt 
after  Frank  was  killed.  You  got  there  before  I 
did,  last  night.  We  know  Frank  was  dead  not 
much  more  than  one  hour  when  we  get  him  to 
the  bunk-house.  Yack,  he  gives  you  a  good 
alibi." 

"  I  sure  am  glad  we  took  the  time  to  trail  that 
horse,  then,"  Lone  remarked,  while  Swan  was 
removing  the  handcuffs.  "  You're  all  right, 
Swan.  Nothing  like  sticking  to  an  idea  till  you 
know  it's  wrong.  Now,  let's  stick  to  mine  for 
awhile.  Let's  go  on  to  Whisper.  It  ain't  far." 

They  returned  to  the  rocky  hillside  where  the 
trail  had  been  covered,  and  searched  here 
and  there  for  the  tracks  of  another  horse ;  found 
the  trail  and  followed  it  easily  enough  to  Whis- 
per. Swan  put  Jack  once  more  on  the  scent  of 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  221 

the  handkerchief,  and  if  actions  meant  anything, 
Jack  proved  conclusively  that  he  found  the  Whis- 
per camp  reeking  with  the  scent. 

But  that  was  all, — since  Al  was  at  that 
moment  trailing  Lorraine  toward  the  Saw- 
tooth. 

"We  may  as  well  eat,"  Swan  suggested. 
"  We'll  get  him,  by  golly,  but  we  don't  have  to 
starve  ourselves." 

"He  wouldn't  know  we're  after  him,"  Lone 
agreed.  "  He'll  stick  around  so  as  not  to  raise 
suspicion.  And  he  might  come  back,  most  any 
time.  If  he  does,  we'll  say  I'm  out  with  you 
after  coyotes,  and  we  stopped  here  for  a  meal. 
That's  good  enough  to  satisfy  him — till  you  get 
the  drop  on  him.  But  I  want  to  tell  yuh,  Swan, 
you  can't  take  Al  Woodruff  as  easy  as  you  took 
me.  And  you  couldn't  have  taken  me  so  easy  if 
I'd  been  the  man  you  wanted.  Al  would  kill  you 
as  easy  as  you  kill  coyotes.  Give  him  a  reason, 
and  you  won't  need  to  give  him  a  chance  along 
with  it.  He'll  find  the  chance  himself." 

Because  they  thought  it  likely  that  Al  would 
soon  return,  they  did  not  hurry.  They  were 
hungry,  and  they  cooked  enough  food  for  four 
men  and  ate  it  leisurely.  Jim  was  at  the  ranch, 


222  THE  QUIRT 

Sorry  had  undoubtedly  returned  before  now,  and 
the  coroner  would  probably  not  arrive  before 
noon,  at  the  earliest. 

Swan  wanted  to  take  Al  Woodruff  back  with 
him  in  irons.  He  wanted  to  confront  the  coroner 
with  the  evidence  he  had  found  and  the  testimony 
which  Lone  could  give.  There  had  been  too 
many  killings  already,  he  asserted  in  his  naive 
way ;  the  sooner  Al  Woodruff  was  locked  up,  the 
safer  the  country  would  be. 

He  discussed  with  Lone  the  possibility  of  mak- 
ing Al  talk, — the  chance  of  his  implicating  the 
Sawtooth.  Lone  did  not  hope  for  much  and 
said  so. 

"  If  Al  was  a  talker  he  wouldn't  be  holding  the 
job  he's  got,"  Lone  argued.  "  Don't  get  the 
wrong  idea  again,  Swan.  Yuh  may  pin  this  on 
to  Al,  but  that  won't  let  the  Sawtooth  in.  The 
Sawtooth's  too  slick  for  that.  They'd  be  more 
likely  to  make  up  a  lynching  party  right  in  the 
outfit  and  hang  Al  as  an  example  than  they 
would  try  to  shield  him.  He's  played  a  lone 
hand,  Swan,  right  from  the  start,  unless  I'm 
badly  mistaken.  The  Sawtooth's  paid  him  for 
playing  it,  that's  all." 

"Warfield,  he's  the  man  I  want,"  Swan  con- 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  223 

Med.  "  It's  for  more  than  killing  these  men. 
It  goes  into  politics,  Loney,  and  it  goes  deep. 
He's  bad  for  the  government.  Getting  Warfield 
for  having  men  killed  is  getting  Warfield  without 
telling  secrets  of  politics.  Warfield,  he's  a  smart 
man,  by  golly.  He  knows  some  one  is  after  him 
in  politics,  but  he  don't  know  some  one  is  after 
him  at  home.  So  the  big  Swede  has  got  to  be 
smart  enough  to  get  the  evidence  against  him  for 
killing." 

"  Well,  I  wish  yuh  luck,  Swan,  but  I  can't  say 
you're  going  at  it  right.  Al  won't  talk,  I  tell 
yuh." 

Swan  did  not  believe  that.  He  waited  another 
hour  and  made  a  mental  inventory  of  everything 
in  camp  while  he  waited.  Then,  chiefly  because 
Lone's  impatience  finally  influenced  him,  he  set 
out  to  see  where  Al  had  gone. 

According  to  Jack,  Al  had  gone  to  the  corral. 
From  there  they  put  Jack  on  the  freshest  hoof- 
prints  leaving  the  place,  and  were  led  here  and 
there  in  an  apparently  aimless  journey  to  no- 
where until,  after  Jack  had  been  at  fault  in  an- 
other rock  patch,  the  trail  took  them  straight 
away  to  the  ridge  overlooking  the  Quirt  ranch. 
The  two  men  looked  at  one  another. 


224  THE  QUIRT 

"  That's  like  Al,"  Lone  commented  drily. 
"  Coyotes  are  foolish  alongside  him,  and  you'll 
find  it  out.  I'll  bet  he's  been  watching  this  place 
since  daybreak." 

"  Where  he  goes,  Yack  will  follow,"  Swan 
grinned  cheerfully.  "  And  I  follow  Yack.  We'll 
get  him,  Lone.  That  dog,  he  never  quits  till  I 
say  quit." 

"  You  better  go  down  and  get  a  horse,  then," 
Lone  advised.  "  They're  all  gentle.  Al's 
mounted,  remember.  He's  maybe  gone  over  to 
the  Sawtooth,  and  that's  farther  than  you  can 
walk." 

"  I  can  walk  all  day  and  all  night,  when  I  need 
to  go  like  that.  I  can  take  short  cuts  that  a 
horse  can't  take.  I  think  I  shall  go  on  my  own 
legs." 

"Well,  I'm  going  down  to  the  house  first.  I 
know  them  two  men  riding  down  to  the  gate.  I 
want  to  see  what  the  boss  and  Hawkins  have  got 
to  say  about  this  last  i  accident.'  Better  come 
on  down,  Swan.  You  might  pick  up  something. 
They're  heading  for  the  ranch,  all  right.  Going 
to  make  a  play  at  being  neighborly,  I  reckon." 

"You  bet  I  want  to  see  Warfield,"  Swan  as- 
sented rather  eagerly  and  called  Jack,  who  had 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  225 

nosed  around  the  spot  where  Al  had  waited  so 
long  and  was  now  trotting  along  the  ridge  on  the 
next  lap  of  Al's  journey. 

They  reached  the  gate  in  time  to  meet  Warfield 
and  Hawkins  face  to  face.  Hawkins  gave  Lone 
a  quick,  questioning  look  and  nodded  carelessly 
to  Swan.  Warfield,  having  a  delicate  errand  to 
perform  and  knowing  how  much  depended  upon 
first  impressions,  pulled  up  eagerly  when  he  rec- 
ognized Lone. 

"  Has  the  girl  arrived  safely,  Lone?  "  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"What  girl?"  Lone  looked  at  him  noncom- 
mittally. 

"Miss — ah — Hunter.  Have  you  been  away 
all  the  forenoon?  The  girl  came  to  the  ranch  in 
such  a  condition  that  I  was  afraid  she  might  do 
herself  or  some  one  else  an  injury.  Has  she  been 
unbalanced  for  long?  " 

"  If  you  mean  Lorraine  Hunter,  she  was  all 
right  last  time  I  saw  her,  and  that  was  last 
night."  Lone's  eyes  narrowed  a  little  as  he 
watched  the  two.  "You  say  she  went  to  the 
Sawtooth?  " 

"  She  came  pelting  over  there  crazier  than 
when  you  brought  her  in,"  Hawkins  broke  in 


226  THE  QUIRT 

gruffly.  "  She  ain't  safe  going  around  alone  like 
that." 

Senator  Warfield  glanced  at  him  impatiently. 
"  Is  there  any  truth  in  her  declaring  that  Frank 
Johnson  is  dead?  She  seemed  to  have  had  a 
shock  of  some  kind.  She  was  raving  crazy,  and 
in  her  rambling  talk  she  said  something  about 
Frank  Johnson  having  died  last  night." 

Lone  glanced  back  as  he  led  the  way  through 
the  gate  which  Swan  was  holding  open.  "  He 
didn't  die — he  got  killed  last  night,"  he  corrected. 

"  Killed !  And  how  did  that  happen?  It  was 
impossible  to  get  two  coherent  sentences  out  of 
the  girl."  Senator  Warfleld  rode  through  just 
behind  Lone  and  reined  close,  lowering  his  voice. 
"  No  use  in  letting  this  get  out,"  he  said  confi- 
dentially. "  It  may  be  that  the  girl's  dementia 
is  some  curable  nervous  disorder,  and  you  know 
what  an  injustice  it  would  be  if  it  became  noised 
around  that  the  girl  is  crazy.  How  much  Eng- 
lish does  that  Swede  know?  " 

"  Not  any  more  than  he  needs  to  get  along  on," 
Lone  answered,  instinctively  on  guard.  "He's 
all  right — just  a  good-natured  kinda  cuss  that 
wouldn't  harm  anybody." 

He  glanced  uneasily  at  the  house,  hoping  that 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  227 

Lorraine  was  safe  inside,  yet  fearing  tkat  she 
would  not  be  safe  anywhere.  Sane  or  insane, 
she  was  in  danger  if  Senator  Warfield  considered 
her  of  sufficient  importance  to  bring  him  out  on 
horseback  to  the  Quirt  ranch.  Lone  knew  how 
seldom  the  owner  of  the  Sawtooth  rode  on  horse- 
back since  he  had  high-powered  cars  to  carry  him 
in  soft  comfort. 

"  I'll  go  see  if  she's  home,"  Lone  explained,  and 
reined  John  Doe  toward  the  house. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  Senator  Warfield  offered 
suavely  and  kept  alongside.  "  Frank  Johnson 
was  killed,  you  say?  How  did  it  happen?  " 

"  Fell  off  his  wagon  and  broke  his  neck,"  Lone 
told  him  laconically.  "  Brit's  pretty  sick  yet ;  I 
don't  guess  you'd  better  go  inside.  There's  been 
a  lot  of  excitement  already  for  the  old  man.  He 
only  sees  folks  he's  used  to  having  around." 

With  that  he  dismounted  and  went  into  the 
house,  leaving  Senator  Warfield  without  an  ex- 
cuse for  following.  Swan  and  Hawkins  came  up 
and  waited  with  him,  and  Jim  opened  the  door  of 
the  bunk-house  and  looked  out  at  them  without 
showing  enough  interest  to  come  forward  and 
speak  to  them. 

In  a  few  minutes  Lone  returned,  to  find  Sen- 


228  THE  QUIRT 

ator  Warfield  trying  to  glean  information  from 
Swan,  who  seemed  willing  enough  to  give  it  if 
only  he  could  find  enough  English  words  to  form 
a  complete  sentence.  Swan,  then,  had  availed 
himself  of  Lone's  belittlement  of  him  and  was  liv- 
ing down  to  it.  But  Lone  gave  him  scant  atten- 
tion just  then. 

"  She  hasn't  come  back.  Brit's  worked  him- 
self up  into  a  fever,  and  I  didn't  dare  tell  him  she 
wasn't  with  me.  I  said  she's  all  tired  out  and 
sick  and  wanted  to  stay  up  by  the  spring  awhile, 
where  it's  cool.  I  said  she  was  with  me,  and  the 
sun  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  sent  him  word 
that  Jim  would  take  care  of  him  awhile  longer. 
So  you  better  move  down  this  way,  or  he'll  hear 
us  talking  and  want  to  know  what's  up." 

"  You're  sure  she  isn't  here?  "  Senator  War- 
field's  voice  held  suspicion. 

"  You  can  ask  Jim,  over  here.  He's  been  on 
hand  right  along.  And  if  you  can't  take  his 
word  for  it,  you  can  go  look  in  the  shack — but  in 
that  case  Brit's  liable  to  take  a  shot  at  yuh,  Sen- 
ator. He's  on  the  warpath  right,  and  he's  got  his 
gun  right  handy." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  search  the  cabin,"  Sen- 
ator Warfield  answered  stiffly.  "Unless  she  is 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  229 

in  a  stupor  we'd  have  heard  her  yelling  long  ago. 
The  girl  was  a  raving  maniac  when  she  appeared 
at  the  Sawtooth.  It's  for  her  good  that  I'm 
thinking." 

Jim  stepped  out  of  the  doorway  and  came 
slowly  toward  them,  eyeing  the  two  from  the 
Sawtooth  curiously  while  he  chewed  tobacco. 
His  hands  rested  on  his  hips,  his  thumbs  hooked 
inside  his  overalls ;  a  gawky  pose  that  fitted  well 
his  colorless  personality, — and  left  his  right  hand 
close  to  his  six-shooter. 

"Cor'ner  comin'?"  he  asked,  nodding  at  the 
two  who  were  almost  strangers  to  him.  "  Sorry, 
he  got  back  two  hours  ago,  and  he  said  the  cor'ner 
would  be  right  out.  But  he  ain't  showed  up 
yet." 

Senator  Warfield  said  that  he  felt  sure  the 
coroner  would  be  prompt  and  then  questioned 
Jim  artfully  about  "  Miss  Hunter." 

"  Raine?  She  went  fer  a  ride.  I  loaned  her 
my  horse,  and  she  ain't  back  yet.  I  told  her  to 
take  a  good  long  ride  and  settle  her  nerves.  She 
acted  kinda  edgy." 

Senator  Warfield  and  his  foreman  exchanged 
glances  for  which  Lone  could  have  killed  them. 

"  You  noticed,  then,  that  she  was  not  quite — 


230  THE  QUIRT 

herself?  "  Senator  War  field  used  his  friendly, 
confidential  tone  on  Jim. 

"  We-ell — yes,  I  did.  I  thought  a  ride  would 
do  her  good,  mebby.  She's  been  sticking  here  on 
the  job  purty  close.  And  Frank  getting  killed 
kinda — upset  her,  I  guess." 

"  That's  it — that's  what  I  was  saying.  Disor- 
dered nerves,  which  rest  and  proper  medical  care 
will  soon  remedy."  He  looked  at  Lone.  "  Her 
horse  was  worn  out  when  she  reached  the  ranch. 
Does  she  know  this  country  well?  She  started 
this  way,  and  she  should  have  been  here  some 
time  ago.  We  thought  it  best  to  ride  after  her, 
but  there  was  some  delay  in  getting  started. 
Hawkins'  horse  broke  away  and  gave  us  some 
trouble  catching  him,  so  the  girl  had  quite  a 
start.  But  with  her  horse  fagged  as  it  was,  we 
had  no  idea  that  we  would  fail  to  get  even  a  sight 
of  her.  She  may  have  wandered  off  on  some 
other  trail,  in  which  case  her  life  as  well  as  her 
reason  is  in  danger." 

Lone  did  not  answer  at  once.  It  had  occurred 
to  him  that  Senator  Warfield  knew  where  Lor- 
raiue  was  at  that  minute,  anc1  taat  he  might  be 
showing  this  concern  for  the  effect  it  would  have 
on  his  hearers.  He  looked  at  him  speculatively. 


YACK  DON'T  LIE  231 

"  Do  you  think  we  ought  to  get  out  and  hunt 
for  her?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  certainly  think  some  one  ought  to.  We 
can't  let  her  wander  around  the  country  in  that 
condition.  If  she  is  not  here,  she  is  somewhere 
in  the  hills,  and  she  should  be  found." 

"  She  sure  ain't  here,"  Jim  asserted  convinc- 
ingly. "  I  been  watching  for  the  last  two  hours, 
expecting  every  minute  she'd  show  up.  I'd  a 
been  kinda  oneasy,  myself,  but  Snake's  dead  gen- 
tle, and  she's  a  purty  fair  rider  fer  a  girl." 

"  Then  we'll  have  to  find  her.  Lone,  can  you 
come  and  help?  " 

"  The  Swede  and  me'll  both  help,"  Lone  volun- 
teered. "  Jim  and  Sorry  can  wait  here  for  the 
coroner.  We  ought  to  find  her  without  any 
trouble,  much.  Swan,  I'll  get  you  that  tobacco 
first  and  see  if  Brit  needs  anything." 

He  started  to  the  house,  and  Swan  followed 
him  aimlessly,  his  long  strides  bringing  him  close 
to  Lone  before  they  reached  the  door. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  this  new  play?  "  Lone 
muttered  cautiously  when  he  saw  Swan's  shadow 
move  close  to -bis.,  own. 

"  By  golly,  it's  something  funny  about  it.  You 
stick  with  them,  Loney,  and  find  out.  I'm  taking 


232  THE  QUIRT 

Al's  trail  with  Yack.  You  fix  it."  And  lie  added 
•whimsically,  "  Not  so  much,  tobacco,  Lone.  I 
don't  eat  it  or  smoke  it  ever  in  my  life." 

His  voice  was  very  Swedish,  which  was  fortu- 
nate, because  Senator  Warfield  appeared  softly 
behind  him  and  went  into  the  house.  Swan  was 
startled,  but  he  hadn't  much  time  to  worry  over 
the  possibility  of  having  been  overheard.  Brit's 
voice  rose  in  a  furious  denunciation  of  Bill  War- 
field,  punctuated  by  two  shots  and  followed  al- 
most immediately  by  the  senator. 

"  My  God,  the  whole  family's  crazy !  "  Warfield 
exclaimed,  when  he  had  reached  the  safety  of  the 
open  air.  "  You're  right,  Lone.  I  thought  I'd 
be  neighborly  enough  to  ask  what  I  could  do  for 
him,  and  he  tried  to  kill  me !  " 

Lone  merely  grunted  and  gave  Swan  the  to- 
bacco. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

"  i  THINK  AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER  " 

ERE  was  no  opportunity  for  further  con- 
•*•  ference.  Senator  Warfield  showed  no  espe- 
cial interest  in  Swan,  and  the  Swede  was  permit- 
ted without  comment  to  take  his  dog  and  strike 
off  up  the  ridge.  Jim  and  Sorry  were  sent  to 
look  after  Brit,  who  was  still  shouting  vain 
threats  against  the  Sawtooth,  and  the  three  men 
rode  away  together.  Warfleld  did  not  suggest 
separating,  though  Lone  expected  him  to  do  so, 
since  one  man  on  a  trail  was  as  good  as  three  in 
a  search  of  this  kind. 

He  was  still  inclined  to  doubt  the  whole  story. 
He  did  not  believe  that  Lorraine  had  been  to  the 
Sawtooth,  or  that  she  had  raved  about  anything. 
She  had  probably  gone  off  by  herself  to  cry  and 
to  worry  over  her  troubles, — hurt,  too,  perhaps, 
because  Lone  had  left  the  ranch  that  morning 
without  a  word  with  her  first.  He  believed  the 
story  of  her  being  insane  had  been  carefully 


234  THE  QUIRT 

planned,  and  that  Warfield  had  perhaps  ridden 
over  in  the  hope  that  they  would  find  her  alone; 
though  with  Frank  dead  on  the  ranch  that  would 
be  unlikely.  But  to  offset  that,  Lone's  reason 
told  him  that  Warfield  had  probably  not  known 
that  Frank  was  dead.  That  had  been  news  to 
him — or  had  it?  He  tried  to  remember  whether 
Warfield  had  mentioned  it  first  and  could 
not.  Too  many  disturbing  emotions  had  held 
him  lately;  Lone  was  beginning  to  feel  the  need 
of  a  long,  quiet  pondering  over  his  problems.  He 
did  not  feel  sure  of  anything  except  the  fact  that 
the  Quirt  was  like  a  drowning  man  struggling 
vainly  against  the  whirlpool  that  is  sucking  him 
slowly  under. 

One  thing  he  knew,  and  that  was  his  determi- 
nation to  stay  with  these  two  of  the  Sawtooth 
until  he  had  some  definite  information;  until  he 
saw  Lorraine  or  knew  that  she  was  safe  from 
them.  Like  a  weight  pressing  harder  and  harder 
until  one  is  crushed  beneath  it,  their  talk  of  Lor- 
raine's insanity  forced  fear  into  his  soul.  They 
could  do  just  what  they  had  talked  of  doing.  He 
himself  had  placed  that  weapon  in  their  hands 
when  he  took  her  to  the  Sawtooth  delirious  and 
told  of  wilder  words  and  actions.  Hawkins  and 


"AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER  "    235 

his  wife  would  swear  away  her  sanity  if  they 
were  told  to  do  it,  and  there  were  witnesses  in 
plenty  who  had  heard  him  call  her  crazy  that 
first  morning. 

They  could  do  it;  they  could  have  her  com- 
mitted to  an  asylum,  or  at  least  to  a  sanitarium. 
He  did  not  underestimate  the  influence  of  Sen- 
ator Warfield.  And  what  could  the  Quirt  do  to 
prevent  the  outrage?  Frank  Johnson  was  dead; 
Brit  was  out  of  the  fight  for  the  time  being ;  Jim 
and  Sorry  were  the  doggedly  faithful  sort  who 
must  have  a  leader  before  they  can  be  counted 
upon  to  do  much. 

Swan, — Lone  lifted  his  head  and  glanced  to- 
ward the  ridge  when  he  thought  of  Swan.  There, 
indeed,  he  might  hope  for  help.  But  Swan  was 
out  here,  away  from  reinforcements.  He  was 
trailing  Al  Woodruff,  and  when  he  found  him, — 
that  might  be  the  end  of  Swan.  If  not,  Warfield 
could  hurry  Lorraine  away  before  Swan  could 
act  in  the  matter.  A  whimsical  thought  of 
Swan's  telepathic  miracle  crossed  his  mind  and 
was  dismissed  as  an  unseemly  bit  of  foolery  in  a 
matter  so  grave  as  Lorraine's  safety.  And  yet — 
the  doctor  had  received  a  message  that  he  was 
wanted  at  the  Quirt,  and  he  had  arrived  before 


236  THE  QUIRT 

his  patient.  There  was  no  getting  around 
that,  however  impossible  it  might  be.  No  one 
could  have  foreseen  Brit's  accident;  no  one  save 
the  man  who  had  prepared  it  for  him,  and  he 
would  be  the  last  person  to  call  for  help. 

"  We  followed  the  girl's  horse-tracks  almost  to 
Thurman's  place  and  lost  the  trail  there."  War- 
field  turned  in  the  saddle  to  look  at  Lone  riding 
behind  him.  "  We  made  no  particular  effort  to 
trace  her  from  there,  because  we  were  sure  she 
would  come  on  home.  I'm  going  back  that  far, 
and  we'll  pick  up  the  trail,  unless  we  find  her  at 
the  ranch.  She  may  have  hidden  herself  away. 
You  can't,"  he  added,  "  be  sure  of  anything  where 
a  demented  person  is  concerned.  They  never  act 
according  to  logic  or  reason,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  make  any  deductions  as  to  their  probable 
movements." 

Lone  nodded,  not  daring  to  trust  his  tongue 
with  speech  just  then.  If  he  were  to  protect  Lor- 
raine later  on,  he  knew  that  he  must  not  defend 
her  now. 

"  Hawkins  told  me  she  had  some  sort  of  hallu- 
cination that  she  had  seen  a  man  killed  at  Rock 
City,  when  she  was  wandering  around  in  that 
storm,"  Warfield  went  on  in  a  careless,  gossipy 


"AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER"    237 

tone.  "  Just  what  was  that  about,  Lone?  You're 
the  one  who  found  her  and  took  her  in  to  the 
ranch,  I  believe.  She  somehow  mixed  her  delu- 
sion up  with  Fred  Thurman,  didn't  she?  " 

Lone  made  a  swift  decision.  He  was  afraid  to 
appear  to  hesitate,  so  he  laughed  his  quiet  little 
chuckle  while  he  scrambled  mentally  for  a  plau- 
sible lie. 

"I  don't  know  as  she  done  that,  quite,"  he 
drawled  humorously.  "  She  was  out  of  her  head, 
all  right,  and  talking  wild,  but  I  laid  it  to  her 
being  sick  and  scared.  She  said  a  man  was  shot, 
and  that  she  saw  it  happen.  And  right  on  top 
of  that  she  said  she  didn't  think  they  ought  to 
stage  a  murder  and  a  thunderstorm  in  the  same 
scene,  and  thought  they  ought  to  save  the  thunder 
and  lightning  for  the  murderer  to  make  his  get- 
away by.  She  used  to  work  for  the  moving  pic- 
tures, and  she  was  going  on  about  some  wild-west 
picture  she  thought  she  was  acting  a  part  in. 

"Afterwards  I  told  her  what  she'd  been  say- 
ing, and  she  seemed  to  kinda  remember  it,  like  a 
bad  dream  she'd  had.  She  told  me  she  thought 
the  villain  in  one  of  the  plays  she  acted  in  had 
pulled  off  a  stage  murder  in  them  rocks.  We 
figured  it  out  together  that  the  first  crack  of 


238  THE  QUIRT 

thunder  had  sounded  like  shooting,  and  that's 
what  started  her  off.  She  hadn't  ever  been  in  a 
real  thunderstorm  before,  and  she's  scared  of 
them.  I  know  that  one  we  had  the  other  day  like 
to  of  scared  her  into  hysterics.  I  laughed  at  her 
and  joshed  her  out  of  it." 

"  Didn't  she  ever  say  anything  about  Fred 
Thurman,  then?  "  War  field  persisted. 

"Not  to  me,  she  didn't.  Fred  was  dragged 
that  night,  and  if  she  heard  about  a  man  being 
killed  during  that  same  storm,  she  might  have 
said  something  about  it.  She  might  have  won- 
dered if  that  was  what  she  saw.  I  don't  know. 
She's  pretty  sensible — when  she  ain't  crazy." 

Warfield  turned  his  horse,  as  if  by  accident,  so 
that  he  was  brought  face  to  face  with  Lone.  His 
eyes  searched  Lone's  face  pitilessly. 

"  Lone,  you  know  how  ugly  a  story  can  grow  if 
it's  left  alone.  Do  you  believe  that  girl  actually 
saw  a  man  shot?  Or  do  you  think  she  was 
crazy?  " 

Lone  met  Warfield's  eyes  fairly.  "  I  think  she 
was  plumb  out  of  her  head,"  he  answered.  And 
he  added  with  just  the  right  degree  of  hesitation : 
"  I  don't  think  she's  what  you'd  call  right  crazy, 
Mr.  Warfield.  Lots  of  folks  go  outa  their  heads 


"AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER  "    239 

and  talk  crazy  when  they  get  a  touch  of  fever, 
and  they  get  over  it  again." 

"  Let's  have  a  fair  understanding,"  Warfield 
insisted.  "Do  you  think  I  am  justified  in  the 
course  I  am  taking,  or  don't  you?  " 

"Hunting  her  up?  Sure,  I  do!  If  you  and 
Hawkins  rode  on  home,  I'd  keep  on  hunting  till 
I  located  her.  If  she's  been  raving  around  like 
you  say,  she's  in  no  shape  to  be  riding  these  hills 
alone.  She's  got  to  be  taken  care  of." 

Warfield  gave  him  another  sharp  scrutiny  and 
rode  on.  "  I  always  prefer  to  deal  in  the  open 
with  every  one,"  he  averred.  "  It  may  not  be  my 
affair,  strictly  speaking.  The  Quirt  and  the 
Sawtooth  aren't  very  intimate.  But  the  Quirt's 
having  trouble  enough  to  warrant  any  one  in 
lending  a  hand ;  and  common  humanity  demands 
that  I  take  charge  of  the  girl  until  she  is  herself 
again." 

"I  don't  know  as  any  one  would  question 
that,"  Lone  assented  and  ground  his  teeth  after- 
wards because  he  must  yield  even  the  appearance 
of  approval.  He  knew  that  Warfield  must  feel 
himself  in  rather  a  desperate  position,  else  he 
would  never  trouble  to  make  his  motives  so  clear 
to  one  of  his  men.  Indeed,  Warfield  had  pro- 


240  THE  QUIRT 

tested  his  unselfishness  in  the  matter  too  much 
and  too  often  to  have  deceived  the  dullest  man 
who  owned  the  slightest  suspicion  of  him.  Lone 
could  have  smiled  at  the  sight  of  Senator  War- 
field  betraying  himself  so,  had  smiling  been  pos- 
sible to  him  then. 

He  dropped  behind  the  two  at  the  first  rough 
bit  of  trail  and  felt  stealthily  to  test  the  hanging 
of  his  six-shooter,  which  he  might  need  in  a 
hurry.  Those  two  men  would  never  lay  their 
hands  on  Lorraine  Hunter  while  he  lived  to  pre- 
vent it.  He  did  not  swear  it  to  himself ;  he  had 
no  need. 

They  rode  on  to  Fred  Thurman's  ranch, 
dismounted  at  Warfield's  suggestion — which 
amounted  to  a  command — and  began  a  careful 
search  of  the  premises.  If  Warfield  had  felt  any 
doubt  of  Lone's  loyalty  he  appeared  to  have  dis- 
missed it  from  his  mind,  for  he  sent  Lone  to  the 
stable  to  search  there,  while  he  and  Hawkins 
went  into  the  house.  Lone  guessed  that  the  two 
felt  the  need  of  a  private  conference  after  their 
visit  to  the  Quirt,  but  he  could  see  no  way  to  slip 
unobserved  to  the  house  and  eavesdrop,  so  he 
looked  perfunctorily  through  all  the  sheds  and 
around  the  depleted  haystacks, — wherever  a  per- 


"AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER  "    241 

son  could  find  a  hiding  place.  He  was  letting 
himself  down  through  the  manhole  in  the  stable 
loft  when  Swan's  voice,  lowered  almost  to  a 
whisper,  startled  him. 

"  What  the  hell ! "  Lone  ejaculated  under  his 
breath.  "  I  thought  you  were  on  another 
trail!" 

"  That  trail  leads  here,  Lone.  Did  you  find 
Eaine  yet?  " 

"  Not  a  sign  of  her.  Swan,  I  don't  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  I  did  think  them  two  were  stall- 
ing. I  thought  they  either  hadn't  seen  her  at 
all,  or  had  got  hold  of  her  and  were  trying  to 
square  themselves  on  the  insanity  dodge.  But  if 
they  know  where  she  is,  they're  acting  damn 
queer,  Swan.  They  want  her.  They  haven't 
got  her  yet." 

"  They're  in  the  house,"  Swan  reassured  Lone. 
"  I  heard  them  walking.  You  don't  think  they've 
got  her  there,  Lone?  " 

"  If  they  have,"  gritted  Lone,  "  they  made  the 
biggest  blunder  of  their  lives  bringing  me  over 
here.  No,  I  could  see  they  wanted  to  get  off 
alone  and  hold  a  powwow.  They  expected  she'd 
be  at  the  Quirt." 

"I  think  Al  Woodruff,  he's  maybe  got  her, 


242  THE  QUIRT 

then,"  Swan  declared,  after  studying  the  matter 
briefly.  "All  the  way  he  follows  the  trail  over 
here,  Lone.  I  could  see  you  sometimes  in  the 
trail.  He  was  keeping  hid  from  the  trail — I 
think  because  Raine  was  riding  along,  this  morn- 
ing, and  he's  following.  The  tracks  are  that 
old." 

"  They  said  they  had  trailed  Eaine  this  far,  com- 
ing from  the  Sawtooth,"  Lone  told  him  worriedly. 
"  What  do  you  think  Al  would  want " 

"  Don't  she  see  him  shoot  Fred  Thurman?  By 
golly,  I'm  scared  for  that  girl,  Loney ! " 

Lone  stared  at  him.     "  He  wouldn't  dare !  " 

"A  coward  is  a  brave  man  when  you  scare  him 
bad  enough,"  Swan  stated  flatly.  "  I'm  careful 
always  when  I  corner  a  coward." 

"Al  ain't  a  coward.     You've  got  him  wrong." 

"  Maybe,  but  he  kills  like  a  coward  would  kill, 
and  he's  scared  he  will  be  caught.  Warfield,  he's 
scared,  too.  You  watch  him,  Lone. 

"  Now  I  tell  you  what  I  do.  Yack,  he  picks 
up  the  trail  from  here  to  where  you  can  follow 
easy.  We  know  two  places  where  he  didn't  go 
with  her,  and  from  here  is  two  more  trails  he 
could  take.  But  one  goes  to  the  main  road,  and 
he  don't  take  that  one,  I  bet  you.  I  think  he 


"AL  WOODRUFF'S  GOT  HER"    243 

takes  that  girl  up  Spirit  Canyon,  maybe.  It's 
woods  and  wild  country  in  a  few  miles,  and 
plenty  of  places  to  hide,  and  good  chances  for 
getting  out  over  the  top  of  the  divide. 

"  I'm  going  to  my  cabin,  and  you  don't  say 
anything  when  I  leave.  Warfield,  he  don't  want 
the  damn  Swede  hanging  around.  So  you  go 
with  them,  Loney.  This  is  to  what  you  call  a 
show-down." 

"  We'll  want  the  dog,"  Lone  told  him,  but  Swan 
shook  his  head.  Hawkins  and  Warfleld  had 
come  from  the  house  and  were  approaching  the 
stable.  Swan  looked  at  Lone,  and  Lone  went 
forward  to  meet  them. 

"  The  Swede  followed  along  on  the  ridge,  and 
he  didn't  see  anything,"  he  volunteered,  before 
Warfield  could  question  him.  "We  might  put 
his  dog  on  the  trail  and  see  which  way  she  went 
from  here." 

Warfield  thought  that  a  good  idea.  He  was  so 
sure  that  Lorraine  must  be  somewhere  within  a 
mile  or  two  of  the  place  that  he  seemed  to  think 
the  search  was  practically  over  when  Jack, 
nosing  out  the  trail  of  Al  Woodruff,  went  trotting 
toward  Spirit  Canyon. 

"  Took  the  wrong  turn  after  she  left  the  corrals 


244  THE  QUIRT 

here,"  Warfield  commented  relievedly.  "  She 
wouldn't  get  far,  up  this  way." 

"  There's  the  track  of  two  horses,"  Hawkins 
said  abruptly.  "  That  there  is  the  girl's  horse, 
all  right — there's  a  hind  shoe  missing.  We  saw 
where  her  horse  had  cast  a  shoe,  coming  over 
Juniper  Bidge.  But  there's  another  horse 
track." 

Lone  bit  his  lip.  It  was  the  other  horse  that 
Jack  had  been  trailing  so  long.  "  There  was  a 
loose  horse  hanging  around  Thurman's  place," 
he  said  casually.  "It's  him,  tagging  along,  I 
reckon." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hawkins.     "  That  accounts  for  it." 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

SWAN  CALLS  FOB  HELP 

PAST  the  field  where  the  horses  were  grazing 
and  up  the  canyon  on  the  side  toward  Sky- 
line Meadow,  that  lay  on  a  shoulder  of  Bear  Top, 
the  dog  nosed  unfalteringly  along  the  trail.  Now 
and  then  he  was  balked  when  the  hoofprints  led 
him  to  the  bank  of  Granite  Creek,  but  not  for 
long.  Jack  appeared  to  understand  why  his 
trailing  was  interrupted  and  sniffed  the  bank 
until  he  picked  up  the  scent  again. 

"Wonder  if  she  changed  off  and  rode  that 
loose  horse,"  Hawkins  said  once,  when  the  tracks 
were  plain  in  the  soft  soil  of  the  creek  bank. 
"  She  might,  and  lead  that  horse  she  was  on." 

"  She  wouldn't  know  enough.  She's  a  city 
girl,"  Lone  replied,  his  heart  heavy  with  fear  for 
Lorraine. 

"  Well,  she  ain't  far  off  then,"  Hawkins  com- 
forted himself.  "  Her  horse  acted  about  played 
out  when  she  hit  the  ranch.  She  had  him  wet 


246  THE  QUIRT 

from  his  ears  to  his  tail,  and  he  was  breathin' 
like  that  Ford  at  the  ranch.  If  that's  a  sample 
of  her  riding,  she  ain't  far  off." 

"  Crazy — to  ride  up  here.  Keep  your  eyes 
open,  boys.  We  must  find  her,  whatever  we  do." 
Warfield  gazed  apprehensively  at  the  rugged 
steeps  on  either  hand  and  at  the  timber  line 
above  them.  "From  here  on  she  couldn't  turn 
back  without  meeting  us — if  I  remember  this 
country  correctly.  Could  she,  Hawkins?  " 

"  Not  unless  she  turned  off,  up  here  a  mile  or 
two,  into  that  gulch  that  heads  into  Skyline," 
said  Hawkins.  "  There's  a  stock  trail  part  way 
down  from  the  top  where  it  swings  off  from  the 
divide  to  Wilder  Creek." 

Swan,  walking  just  behind  Hawkins,  moved 
up  a  pace. 

"  I  could  go  on  Skyline  with  Yack,  and  I  could 
come  down  by  those  trail,"  he  suggested  diffi- 
dently, Swedishly,  yet  with  a  certain  compelling 
•confidence.  "  What  you  think?  " 

"  I  think  that's  a  damned  good  idea  for  a 
square  head,"  Hawkins  told  him,  and  repeated  it 
to  Warfield,  who  was  riding  ahead. 

"Why,  yes.  We  don't  need  the  dog,  or  the 
man  either.  Go  up  to  the  head  of  the  gulch  and 


SWAN  CALLS  FOR  HELP      247 

keep  your  ejes  open,  Swan.  We'll  meet  you  up 
here.  You  know  the  girl,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yas,  Ay  know  her  pretty  good,"  grinned 
Swan. 

"  Well,  don't  frighten  her.  Don't  let  her  see 
that  you  think  anything  is  wrong — and  don't  say 
anything  about  us.  We  made  the  mistake  of  dis- 
cussing her  condition  within  her  hearing,  and  it 
is  possible  that  she  understood  enough  of  what 
we  were  sayhig  to  take  alarm.  You  understand? 
Don't  tell  girl  she's  crazy."  He  tapped  his  head 
to  make  his  meaning  plainer.  "  Don't  tell  girl 
we're  looking  for  her.  You  understand?  " 

"  Yas,  Ay  know  English  pretty  good.  Ay 
don't  tell  too  moch."  His  cheerful  smile  brought 
a  faint  response  from  Senator  Warfield.  At 
Lone  he  did  not  look  at  all.  "  I  go  quick.  I'm 
good  climber  like  a  sheep,"  he  boasted,  and 
whistling  to  Jack,  he  began  working  his  way  up 
a  rough,  brush-scattered  ledge  to  the  slope  above. 

Lone  watched  him-  miserably,  wishing  that 
Swan  was  not  quite  so  matter  of  fact  in  his  man- 
chasing.  If  Al  Woodruff,  for  some  reason  which 
Lone  could  not  fathom,  had  taken  Lorraine  and 
forced  her  to  go  with  him  into  the  wilderness, 
Warfield  and  Hawkins  would  be  his  allies  the 


248  THE  QUIRT 

moment  they  came  up  with.  him.  Lone  was  no 
coward,  but  neither  was  he  a  fool.  Hawkins  had 
never  distinguished  himself  as  a  fighter,  but  Lone 
had  gleaned  here  and  there  a  great  deal  of  in- 
formation about  Senator  Warfield  in  the  old  days 
when  he  had  been  plain  Bill.  When  Lorraine 
and  Al  were  overtaken,  then  Lone  would  need  to 
show  the  stuff  that  was  in  him.  He  only  hoped 
he  would  have  time,  and  that  luck  would  be  with 
him. 

"  If  they  get  me,  it'll  be  aU  off  with  her,"  he 
worried,  as  he  followed  the  two  up  the  canyon. 
"  Swan  would  have  been  a  help.  But  he  thinks 
more  of  catching  Al  than  he  does  of  helping 
Baine." 

He  looked  up  and  saw  that  already  Swan  was 
halfway  up  the  canyon's  steep  side,  making  his 
way  through  the  brush  with  more  speed  than 
Lone  could  have  shown  on  foot  in  the  open,  unless 
he  ran.  The  sight  heartened  Lone  a  little. 
Swan  might  have  some  plan  of  his  own, — an 
ambush,  possibly.  If  he  would  only  keep  along 
within  rifle  shot  and  remain  hidden,  he  would 
show  real  brains,  Lone  thought.  But  Swan, 
when  Lone  looked  up  again,  was  climbing 
straight  away  from  the  little  searching  party; 


SWAN  CALLS  FOR  HELP       249 

and  even  though,  he  seemed  tireless  on  foot,  he 
could  not  perform  miracles. 

Swan,  however,  was  not  troubling  himself  over 
what  Lone  would  think,  or  even  what  Warfield 
was  thinking.  Contrary  to  Lone's  idea  of  him, 
Swan  was  tired,  and  he  was  thinking  a  great  deal 
about  Lorraine,  and  very  little  about  Al  Wood- 
ruff, except  as  Al  was  concerned  with  Lorraine's 
welfare.  Swan  had  made  a  mistake,  and  he  was 
humiliated  over  his  blunder.  Al  had  kept  him- 
self so  successfully  in  the  background  while 
Lone's  peculiar  actions  had  held  his  attention, 
that  Swan  had  never  considered  Al  Woodruff  a& 
the  killer.  Now  he  blamed  himself  for  Prank's, 
death.  He  had  been  watching  Lone,  had  been 
baffled  by  Lone's  consistent,  kindness  toward  the 
Quirt,  by  the  force  of  his  personality  which  held 
none  of  the  elements  of  cold-blooded  murder. 
He  had  believed  that  he  had  the  Sawtooth  killer 
under  observation,  and  he  had  been  watching  and 
waiting  for  evidence  that  would  impress  a  grand 
jury.  And  all  the  while  he  had  let  Al  Woodruff 
ride  free  and  unsuspected. 

The  one  stupid  thing,  in  Swan's  opinion,  which 
he  had  not  done  was  to  let  Lone  go  on  holding 
his  tongue.  He  had  forced  the  issue  that  morn- 


250  THE  QUIRT 

ing.  He  had  wanted  to  make  Lone  talk,  had 
hoped  for  a  weakening  and  a  confession.  In- 
stead he  had  learned  a  good  deal  which  he  should 
have  known  before. 

As  he  forged  up  the  slope  across  the  ridged 
lip  of  the  canyon,  his  one  immediate  object  was 
speed.  Up  the  canyon  and  over  the  divide  on 
the  west  shoulder  of  Bear  Top  was  a  trail  to  the 
open  country  beyond.  It  was  perfectly  passable, 
as  Swan  knew;  he  had  packed  in  by  that  trail 
when  he  located  his  homestead  on  Bear  Top. 
That  is  why  he  had  his  cabin  up  and  was  living 
in  it  before  the  Sawtooth  discovered  his  presence. 

Al,  he-believed,  was  making  for  Bear  Top  Pass. 
Once  down  the  other  side  he  would  find  friends  to 
lend  him  fresh  horses.  Swan  had  learned  some- 
thing of  these  friends  of  the  Sawtooth,  and  he 
could  guess  pretty  accurately  how  far  some  of 
them  would  go  in  their  service.  Fresh  horses 
for  Al,  food — perhaps  even  a  cabin  where  he 
could  hide  Lorraine  away — were  to  be  expected 
from  any  one  of  them,  once  Al  was  over  the 
divide. 

Swan  glanced  up  at  the  sun,  saw  that  it  was 
dropping  to  late  afternoon  and  started  in  at  a 
long,  loose-jointed  trot  across  the  mountain 


SWAN  CALLS  FOR  HELP       251 

meadow  called  Skyline.  A  few  pines,  with 
scattered  clumps  of  juniper  and  fir,  dotted  the 
long,  irregular  stretch  of  grassland  which  formed 
the  meadow.  Eange  cattle  were  feeding  here 
and  there,  so  wild  they  lifted  heads  to  stare  at 
the  man  and  dog,  then  came  trotting  forward, 
their  curiosity  unabated  by  the  fact  that  they 
had  seen  these  two  before. 

Jack  looked  up  at  his  master,  looked  at  the 
cattle  and  took  his  place  at  Swan's  heels.  Swan 
shouted  and  flung  his  arms,  and  the  cattle  ducked, 
turned  and  galloped  awkwardly  away.  Swan's 
trot  did  not  slacken.  His  rifle  swung  rhythmic- 
ally in  his  right  hand,  the  muzzle  tilted  down- 
ward. Beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead 
had  merged  into  tiny  rivulets  on  his  cheeks  and 
dripped  off  his  clean-lined,  square  jaw.  Still  he 
ran,  his  breath  unlabored  yet  coming  in  whispery 
aspirations  from  his  great  lungs. 

The  full  length  of  Skyline  Meadow  he  ran, 
jumping  the  small  beginning  of  Wilder  Creek 
with  one  great  leap  that  scarcely  interrupted  the 
beautiful  rhythm  of  his  stride.  At  the  far  end 
of  the  clearing,  snuggled  between  two  great  pines 
that  reached  high  into  the  blue,  his  squatty  cabin 
showed  red-brown  against  the  precipitous  shoul- 


252  THE  QUIRT 

der  of  Bear  Top  peak,  covered  thick  with,  brush 
and  scraggy  timber  whipped  incessantly  by  the 
wind  that  blew  over  the  mountain's  crest. 

At  the  door  Swan  stopped  and  examined  the 
crude  fastening  of  the  door;  made  himself  cer- 
tain, by  private  marks  of  his  own,  that  none  had 
entered  in  his  absence,  and  went  in  with  a  great 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  It  was  still  broad  day- 
light, though  the  sun's  rays  slanted  in  through 
the  window;  but  Swan  lighted  a  lantern  that 
hung  on  a  nail  behind  the  door,  carried  it  across 
the  neat  little  room,  and  set  it  down  on  the  floor 
beside  the  usual  pioneer  cupboard  made  simply 
of  clean  boxes  nailed  bottom  against  the  wall. 
Swan  had  furnished  a  few  extra  frills  to  his  cup- 
board, for  the  ends  of  the  boxes  were  fastened  to 
hewn  slabs  standing  upright  and  just  clearing 
the  floor.  Near  the  upper  shelf  a  row  of  nails 
held  Swan's  coffee  cups, — four  of  them,  thick  and 
white,  such  as  cheap  restaurants  use. 

Swan  hooked  a  finger  over  the  nail  that  held  a 
cracked  cup  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at 
Jack,  sitting  in  the  doorway  with  his  keen  nose 
to  the  world. 

"  You  watch  out  now,  Yack.  I  shall  talk  to 
my  mother  with  my  thoughts,"  he  said,  drawing 


SWAN  CALLS  FOR  HELP       253 

a  hand  across  his  forehead  and  speaking  in 
breathless  gasps.  "  You  watch." 

For  answer  Jack  thumped  his  tail  on  the  dirt 
floor  and  sniffed  the  breeze,  taking  in  his  over- 
lapping tongue  while  he  did  so.  He  licked  his 
lips,  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  Swan,  and 
draped  his  pink  tongue  down  over  his  lower  jaw 
again. 

"All  right,  now  I  talk,"  said  Swan  and  pulled 
upon  the  nail  in  his  fingers. 

The  cupboard  swung  toward  him  bodily,  end 
slabs  and  all.  He  picked  up  the  lantern,  stepped 
over  the  log  sill  and  pulled  the  cupboard  door 
into  place  again. 

Inside  the  dugout  Swan  set  the  lantern  on  a 
table,  dropped  wearily  upon  a  rough  bench  be- 
fore it  and  looked  at  the  jars  beside  him,  lifted 
his  hand  and  opened  a  compact,  but  thoroughly 
efficient  field  wireless  "  set."  His  right  fingers 
dropped  to  the  key,  and  the  whining  drone  of  the 
wireless  rose  higher  and  higher  as  he  tuned  up. 
He  reached  for  his  receivers,  ducked  his  head  and 
adjusted  them  with  one  hand,  and  sent  a  call 
spitting  tiny  blue  sparks  from  the  key  under  his 
fingers. 

He  waited,  repeating  the  call.     His  blue  eyes 


254  THE  QUIRT 

clouded  with  anxiety  and  he  fumbled  the  adjust- 
ments, coaxing  the  current  into  perfect  action 
before  he  called  again.  Answer  came,  and  Swan 
bent  over  the  table,  listening,  his  eyes  fixed 
vacantly  upon  the  opposite  wall  of  the  dugout. 
Then,  his  fingers  flexing  delicately,  swiftly,  he 
sent  the  message  that  told  how  completely  his 
big  heart  matched  the  big  body : 

"  Send  doctor  and  trained  nurse  to  Quirt 
ranch  at  once.  Send  men  to  Bear  Top  Pass, 
intercept  man  with  young  woman,  or  come  to 
rescue  if  he  don't  cross.  Have  three  men 
here  with  evidence  to  convict  if  we  can  save 
the  girl  who  is  valuable  witness.  Girl  be- 
ing abducted  in  fear  of  what  she  can  tell. 
They  plan  to  charge  her  with  insanity. 
Urgent.  Hurry.  Come  ready  to  fight. 

"  S.  V." 

Swan  had  a  code,  but  codes  require  a  little 
time  in  the  composition  of  a  message,  and  time 
was  the  one  thing  he  could  not  waste.  He  heard 
the  gist  of  the  message  repeated  to  him,  told  the 
man  at  the  other  station  that  lives  were  at  stake, 
and  threw  off  the  current. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

KIDNAPPED 

LORRAINE  had  once  had  a  nasty  fall  from 
riding  down  hill  at  a  gallop.  She  remem- 
bered that  accident  and  permitted  Snake  to 
descend  Granite  Ridge  at  a  walk,  which  was  for- 
tunate, since  it  gave  the  horse  a  chance  to  re- 
cover a  little  from  the  strain  of  the  terrific  pace 
at  which  she  had  ridden  him  that  morning.  At 
first  it  had  been  fighting  fury  that  had  impelled 
her  to  hurry;  now  it  was  fear  that  drove  her 
homeward  where  Lone  was,  and  Swan,  and  that 
stolid,  faithful  Jim.  She  felt  that  Senator  War- 
field  would  never  dare  to  carry  out  his  covert 
threat,  once  she  reached  home.  Nevertheless,  the 
throat  haunted  her,  made  her  glance  often  over 
her  shoulder. 

At  the  Thurman  ranch,  which  she  was  passing 
with  a  sickening  memory  of  the  night  when  she 
and  Swan  had  carried  her  father  there,  Al  Wood- 
ruff rode  out  suddenly  from  behind  the  stable 
and  blocked  the  trail,  his  six-shooter  in  his  hand, 


256  THE  QUIRT 

his  face  stony  with,  determination.  Lorraine 
afterwards  decided  that  he  must  have  seen  or 
heard  her  coming  down  the  ridge  and  had  waited 
for  her  there.  He  smiled  with  his  lips  when  she 
pulled  up  Snake  with  a  startled  look. 

"  You're  in  such  a  hurry  this  morning  that  I 
thought  the  only  way  to  get  a  chance  to  talk  to 
you  was  to  hold  you  up,"  he  said,  in  much  the 
same  tone  he  had  used  that  day  at  the  ranch. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  talk  to  me," 
Lorraine  retorted,  not  in  the  least  frightened  at 
the  gun,  which  was  too  much  like  her  movie  West 
to  impress  her  much.  But  her  eyes  widened  at 
the  look  in  his  face,  and  she  tried  to  edge  away 
from  him  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

Al  stopped  her  by  the  simple  method  of  reach- 
ing out  his  left  hand  and  catching  Snake  by  the 
cheek-piece  of  the  bridle.  "You  don't  have  to 
see  why,"  he  said.  "I've  been  thinking  a  lot 
about  you  lately.  I've  made  up  my  mind  that 
I've  got  to  have  you  with  me — always.  This  is 
kinda  sudden,  maybe,  but  that's  the  way  the  game 
runs,  sometimes.  Now,  I  want  to  tell  yuh  one  or 
two  things  that's  for  your  own  good.  One  is  that 
I'll  have  my  way,  or  die  getting  it.  Don't  be 
scared;  I  won't  hurt  you.  But  if  you  try  to 


KIDNAPPED  257 

break  away,  I'll  shoot  you,  that's  all.  I'm  going 
to  marry  you,  see,  first.  Then  I'll  make  love  to 
you  afterwards.  I  ain't  asking  you  if  you'll 
marry  me.  You're  going  to  do  it,  or  I'll  kill  you." 

Lorraine  gazed  at  him  fascinated,  too  aston- 
ished to  attempt  any  move  toward  escape.  Al's 
hand  slipped  from  the  bridle  down  to  the  reins, 
and  still  holding  Snake,  still  holding  the  gun 
muzzle  toward  her,  still  looking  her  straight  in 
the  eyes,  he  threw  his  right  leg  over  the  cantle 
of  his  saddle  and  stepped  off  his  horse. 

"  Put  your  other  hand  on  the  saddle  horn,"  he 
directed.  "  I  ain't  going  to  hurt  you  if  you're 
good." 

He  twitched  his  neckerchief  off — Lorraine  saw 
that  it  was  untied,  and  that  he  must  have 
planned  all  this — and  with  it  he  tied  her  wrists 
to  the  saddle  horn.  She  gave  Snake  a  kick  in  the 
ribs,  but  Al  checked  the  horse's  first  start  and 
Snake  was  too  tired  to  dispute  a  command  to 
stand  still.  Al  put  up  his  gun,  pulled  a  hunting 
knife  from  a  little  scabbard  in  his  boot,  sliced  two 
pairs  of  saddle  strings  from  Lorraine's  saddle, 
calmly  caught  and  held  her  foot  when  she  tried 
to  kick  him,  pushed  the  foot  back  into  the  stirrup 
and  tied  it  there  with  one  of  the  leather  strings. 


258  THE  QUIRT 

Just  as  if  lie  were  engaged  in  an  everyday  pro- 
ceeding, he  walked  around  Snake  and  tied  Lor- 
raine's right  foot;  then,  to  prevent  her  from 
foolishly  throwing  herself  from  the  horse  and 
getting  hurt,  he  tied  the  stirrups  together  under 
the  horse's  belly. 

"  Now,  if  you'll  be  a  good  girl,  I'll  untie  your 
hands,"  he  said,  glancing  up  into  her  face.  He 
freed  her  hands,  and  Lorraine  immediately 
slapped  him  in  the  face  and  reached  for  his  gun. 
But  Al  was  too  quick  for  her.  He  stepped  back, 
picked  up  Snake's  reins  and  mounted  his  own 
horse.  He  looked  back  at  her  appraisingly,  saw 
her  glare  of  hatred  and  grinned  at  it,  while  he 
touched  his  horse  with  the  spurs  and  rode  away, 
leading  Snake  behind  him. 

Lorraine  said  nothing  until  Al,  riding  at  a 
lope,  passed  the  field  at  the  mouth  of  Spirit 
Canyon  where  the  blaze-faced  roan  still  fed  with 
the  others.  They  were  feeding  along  the  creek 
quite  close  to  the  fence,  and  the  roan  walked  to- 
ward them.  The  sight  of  it  stirred  Lorraine  out 
of  her  dumb  horror. 

"  You  killed  Fred  Thurman !  I  saw  you,"  she 
cried  suddenly. 

"  Well,  you  ain't  going  to  holler  it  all  over  the 


KIDNAPPED  259 

country,"  Al  flung  back  at  her  over  his  shoulder. 
"  When  you're  married  to  me,  you'll  come  mighty 
close  to  keeping  your  mouth  shut  about  it." 

"  I'll  never  marry  you !  You — you  fiend !  Do 
you  think  I'd  marry  a  cold-blooded  murderer 
like  you?  " 

Al  turned  in  the  saddle  and  looked  at  her  in- 
tently. "If  I'm  aU  that,"  he  told  her  coolly, 
"  you  can  figure  out  about  what'll  happen  to  you 
if  you  don't  marry  me.  If  you  saw  what  I  done 
to  Fred  Thurman,  what  do  you  reckon  I'd  do  to 
you?  "  He  looked  at  her  for  a  minute,  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  rode  on,  crossing  the  creek  and 
taking  a  trail  which  Lorraine  did  not  know. 
Much  of  the  time  they  traveled  in  the  water, 
though  it  slowed  their  pace.  Where  the  trail 
was  rocky,  they  took  it  and  made  better  time. 

Snake  lagged  a  little  on  the  upgrades,  but  he 
was  well  trained  to  lead  and  gave  little  trouble. 
Lorraine  thought  longingly  of  Yellowjacket  and 
his  stubbornness  and  tried  to  devise  some  way  of 
escape.  She  could  not  believe  that  fate  would 
permit  Al  Woodruff  to  carry  out  such  a  plan. 
Lone  would  overtake  them,  perhaps, — and  then 
she  remembered  that  Lone  would  have  no  means 
of  knowing  which  way  she  had  gone.  If 


260  THE  QUIRT 

Hawkins  and  Senator  Warfield  came  after  them, 
her  plight  would  be  worse  than  ever.  Still,  she 
decided  that  she  must  risk  that  danger  and  give 
Lone  a  clue. 

She  dropped  a  glove  beside  the  trail,  where  it 
lay  in  plain  sight  of  any  one  following  them. 
But  presently  Al  looked  over  his  shoulder,  saw 
that  one  of  her  hands  was  bare,  and  tied  Snake's 
reins  to  his  saddle  and  his  own  horse  to  a  bush. 
Then  he  went  back  down  the  trail  until  he  found 
the  glove.  He  put  it  into  his  pocket,  came 
silently  up  to  Lorraine  and  pulled  off  her  other 
glove.  Without  a  word  he  took  her  wrists  in  a 
firm  clasp,  tied  them  together  again  to  the  saddle 
horn,  pulled  off  her  tie,  her  hat,  and  the  pins  from 
her  hair. 

"  I  guess  you  don't  know  me  yet,"  he  remarked 
dryly,  when  he  had  confiscated  every  small 
article  which  she  could  let  fall  as  she  rode.  "  I 
was  trying  to  treat  yuh  white,  but  you  don't  seem 
to  appreciate  it.  Now  you  can  ride  hobbled, 
young  lady." 

"  Oh,  I  could  kill  you ! "  Lorraine  whispered 
between  set  teeth. 

1  You  mean  you'd  like  to.  Well,  I  ain't  going 
to  give  you  a  chance."  His  eyes  rested  on  her 


KIDNAPPED  261 

face  with  a  new  expression;  an  awakening  de- 
sire for  her,  an  admiration  for  the  spirit  that 
would  not  let  her  weep  and  plead  with  him. 

"  Say !  you  ain't  going  to  be  a  bit  hard  to 
marry,"  he  observed,  his  eyes  lighting  with  what 
was  probably  his  nearest  approach  to  tender- 
ness. "  I  kinda  wish  you  liked  me,  now  I've  got 
you." 

He  shook  her  arm  and  laughed  when  she- 
turned  her  face  away  from  him,  then  remounted 
his  horse.  Snake  moved  reluctantly  when  Al 
started  on.  Lorraine  felt  hope  slipping  from 
her.  With  her  hands  tied,  she  could  do  nothing 
at  all  save  sit  there  and  ride  wherever  Al  Wood- 
ruff chose  to  lead  her  horse.  He  seemed  to  be 
making  for  the  head  of  Spirit  Canyon,  on  the  side 
toward  Bear  Top. 

As  they  climbed  higher,  she  could  catch 
glimpses  of  the  road  down  which  her  father  had 
driven  almost  to  his  death.  She  studied  ATs 
back  as  he  rode  before  her  and  wondered  if  he 
could  really  be  cold-blooded  enough  to  kill  with- 
out compunction  whoever  he  was  told  to  kill, 
whether  he  had  any  personal  quarrel  with  his 
victim  or  not.  Certainly  he  had  had  no  quarrel 
with  her  father,  or  with  Frank. 


262  THE  QUIRT 

It  was  long  past  noon,  and  she  was  terribly 
hungry  and  very  thirsty,  but  she  would  not  tell 
Al  her  wants  if  she  starved.  She  tried  to  guess 
at  his  plans  and  at  his  motive  for  taking  her 
away  like  this.  He  had  no  camping  outfit,  a 
bulkily  rolled  slicker  forming  his  only  burden. 
He  could  not,  then,  be  planning  to  take  her  much 
farther  into  the  wilderness ;  yet  if  he  did  not  hide 
her  away,  how  could  he  expect  to  keep  her?  His 
motive  for  marrying  her  was  rather  mystifying. 
He  did  not  seem  sufficiently  in  love  with  her  to 
warrant  an  abduction,  and  he  was  too  cool  for 
such  a  headlong  action,  unless  driven  by  neces- 
sity. She  wondered  what  he  was  thinking  about 
as  he  rode.  Not  about  her,  she  guessed,  except 
when  some  bad  place  in  the  trail  made  it  neces- 
sary for  him  to  stop,  tie  Snake  to  the  nearest 
bush,  lead  his  own  horse  past  the  obstruction  and 
come  back  after  her.  Several  times  this  was 
necessary.  Once  he  took  the  time  to  examine  the 
thongs  on  her  ankles,  apparently  wishing  to  make 
sure  that  she  was  not  uncomfortable.  Once  he 
looked  up  into  her  sullenly  distressed  face  and 
said,  "  Tired?  "  in  a  humanly  sympathetic  tone 
that  made  her  blink  back  the  tears.  She  shook 
her  head  and  would  not  look  at  him.  Al  re- 


KIDNAPPED  263 

garded  her  in  silence  for  a  minute,  led  Snake  to 
his  own  horse,  mounted  and  rode  on. 

He  was  a  murderer ;  he  had  undoubtedly  killed 
many  men.  He  would  kill  her  if  she  attempted 
to  escape — "and  he  could  not  catch  me,"  Lor- 
raine was  just  enough  to  add.  Yet  she  felt 
baffled;  cheated  of  the  full  horror  of  being  kid- 
napped. 

She  had  no  knowledge  of  a  bad  man  who  was 
human  in  spots  without  being  repentant.  For 
love  of  a  girl,  she  had  been  taught  to  believe,  the 
worst  outlaw  would  weep  over  his  past  misdeeds, 
straighten  his  shoulders,  look  to  heaven  for  help 
and  become  a  self-sacrificing  hero  for  whom  audi- 
ences might  be  counted  upon  to  shed  furtive 
tears. 

Al  Woodruff,  however,  did  not  love  her.  His 
eyes  had  once  or  twice  softened  to  friendliness, 
but  love  was  not  there.  Neither  was  repentance 
there.  He  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  himself, 
quite  ready  to  commit  further  crimes  for  sake  of 
his  own  safety  or  desire.  He  was  hard,  she  de- 
cided, but  he  was  not  unnecessarily  harsh ;  cruel, 
without  being  wantonly  brutal.  He  was,  in 
short,  the  strangest  man  she  had  ever  seen. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU !  " 

BEFORE  sundown  they  reached  the  timber- 
land  on  Bear  Top.  The  horses  slipped  on 
the  pine  needles  when  Al  left  the  trail  and  rode 
up  a  gentle  incline  where  the  trees  grew  large 
and  there  was  little  underbrush.  It  was  very 
beautiful,  with  the  slanting  sun-rays  painting 
broad  yellow  bars  across  the  gloom  of  the  forest. 
In  a  little  while  they  reached  the  crest  of  that 
slope,  and  Lorraine,  looking  back,  could  only 
guess  at  where  the  trail  wound  on  among  the 
trees  lower  down. 

Birds  called  companionably  from  the  high 
branches  above  them.  A  nesting  grouse  flew 
chuttering  out  from  under  a  juniper  bush, 
alighted  a  short  distance  away  and  went  limping 
and  dragging  one  wing  before  them,  cheeping 
piteously. 

While  Lorraine  was  wondering  if  the  poor 
thing  had  hurt  a  leg  in  lighting,  Al  clipped  its 


"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU! "     265 

head  off  neatly  with  a  bullet  from  his  six-shooter, 
though  Lorraine  had  not  seen  him  pull  the  gun 
and  did  not  know  he  meant  to  shoot.  The  bird's 
mate  whirred  up  and  away  through  the  trees, 
and  Lorraine  was  glad  that  it  had  escaped. 

Al  slid  the  gun  back  into  his  holster,  leaned 
from  his  saddle  and  picked  up  the  dead  grouse 
as  unconcernedly  as  he  would  have  dismounted, 
pulled  his  knife  from  his  boot  and  drew  the  bird 
neatly,  flinging  the  crop  and  entrails  from  him. 

"  Them  juniper  berries  tastes  the  meat  if  you 
don't  clean  'em  out  right  away,"  he  remarked 
casually  to  Lorraine,  as  he  wiped  the  knife  on  his 
trousers  and  thrust  it  back  into  the  boot-scabbard 
before  he  tied  the  grouse  to  the  saddle  by  its  blue, 
scaley  little  feet. 

When  he  was  ready  to  go  on,  Snake  refused  to 
budge.  Tough  as  he  was,  he  had  at  last  reached 
the  limit  of  his  energy  and  ambition.  Al  yanked 
hard  on  the  bridle  reins,  then  rode  back  and 
struck  him  sharply  with  his  quirt  before  Snake 
would  rouse  himself  enough  to  move  forward. 
He  went  stiffly,  reluctantly,  pulling  back  until  his 
head  was  held  straight  out  before  him.  Al 
dragged  him  so  for  a  rod  or  two,  lost  patience 
and  returned  to  whip  him  forward  again. 


266  THE  QUIRT 

"  What  a  brute  you  are !  "  Lorraine  exclaimed 
indignantly.  "  Can't  you  see  how  tired  lie  is?  " 

Al  glanced  at  her  from  under  his  eyebrows. 
"  He's  all  in,  but  he's  got  to  make  it,"  he  said. 
"  I've  been  that  way  myself — and  made  it.  What 
I  can  do,  a  horse  can  do.  Come  on,  you  yella- 
livered  bonehead ! " 

Snake  went  on,  urged  now  and  then  by  Al's 
quirt.  Every  blow  made  Lorraine  wince,  and 
she  made  the  wincing  perfectly  apparent  to  Al, 
in  the  hope  that  he  would  take  some  notice  of  it 
and  give  her  a  chance  to  tell  him  what  she 
thought  of  him  without  opening  the  conversation 
herself. 

But  Al  did  not  say  anything.  When  the  time 
came — as  even  Lorraine  saw  that  it  must — when 
Snake  refused  to  attempt  a  steep  slope,  Al  still 
said  nothing.  He  untied  her  ankles  from  the 
stirrups  and  her  hands  from  the  saddle  horn, 
carried  her  in  his  arms  to  his  own  horse  and 
compelled  her  to  mount.  Then  he  retied  her  ex- 
actly as  she  had  been  tied  on  Snake. 

"  Skinner  knows  this  trail,"  he  told  Lorraine. 
"And  I'm  behind  yuh  with  a  gun.  Don't  forget 
that,  Miss  Spitfire.  You  let  Skinner  go  to  suit 
himself — and  if  he  goes  wrong,  you  pay,  because 


"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU!"     267 

it'll  be  you  reining  him  wrong.  Get  along  there, 
Skinner ! " 

Skinner  got  along  in  a  businesslike  way  that 
told  why  Al  Woodruff  had  chosen  to  ride  him  on 
this  trip.  He  seemed  to  be  a  perfectly  depend- 
able saddle  horse  for  a  bandit  to  own.  He  wound 
in  and  out  among  the  trees  and  boulders,  stepping 
carefully  over  fallen  logs ;  he  thrust  his  nose  out 
straight  and  laid  back  his  ears  and  pushed  his 
way  through  thickets  of  young  pines;  he  went 
circumspectly  along  the  edge  of  a  deep  gulch, 
climbed  over  a  ridge  and  worked  his  way  down 
the  precipitous  slope  on  the  farther  side,  made 
his  way  around  a  thick  clump  of  spruces  and 
stopped  in  a  little,  grassy  glade  no  bigger  than  a 
city  lot,  but  with  a  spring  gurgling  somewhere 
near.  Then  he  swung  his  head  around  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder  inquiringly  at  Al,  who 
was  coming  behind,  leading  Snake. 

Lorraine  looked  at  him  also,  but  Al  did  not 
say  anything  to  her  or  to  the  horse.  He  let  them 
stand  there  and  wait  while  he  unsaddled  Snake, 
put  a  drag  rope  on  him  and  led  him  to  the  best 
grazing.  Then,  coming  back,  he  very  matter-of- 
factly  untied  Lorraine  and  helped  her  off  the 
horse.  Lorraine  was  all  prepared  to  fight,  but 


268  THE  QUIRT 

she  did  not  quite  know  how  to  struggle  with,  a 
man  who  did  not  take  hold  of  her  or  touch  her, 
except  to  steady  her  in  dismounting.  Uncon- 
sciously she  waited  for  a  cue,  and  the  cue  was 
not  given. 

ATs  mind  seemed  intent  upon  making  Skinner 
comfortable.  Still,  he  kept  an  eye  on  Lor- 
raine, and  he  did  not  turn  his  back  to  her.  Lor- 
raine looked  over  to  where  Snake,  too  exhausted 
to  eat,  stood  with  drooping  head  and  all  four 
legs  braced  like  sticks  under  him.  It  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  not  even  her  old  director 
would  order  her  to  make  a  run  for  that  horse 
and  try  to  get  away  on  him.  Snake  looked  as  if 
he  would  never  move  from  that  position  until  he 
toppled  over. 

Al  pulled  the  bridle  off  Skinner,  gave  him  a 
"half -affectionate  slap  on  the  rump,  and  watched 
him  go  off,  switching  his  tail  and  nosing  the 
ground  for  a  likable  place  to  roll.  Al's  glance 
went  on  to  Snake,  and  from  him  to  Lorraine. 

"  You  sure  do  know  how  to  ride  hell  out  of  a 
horse,"  he  remarked.  "Now  he'll  be  stiff  and 
sore  to-morrow — and  we've  got  quite  a  ride  to 
make." 

His  tone  of  disapproval  sent  a  guilty  feeling 


"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU!  "     269 

through  Lorraine,  until  she  remembered  that  a 
slow  horse  might  save  her  from  this  man  who 
was  all  bad, — except,  perhaps,  just  on  the  sur- 
face which  was  not  altogether  repellent.  She 
looked  around  at  the  tiny  basin  set  like  a  saucer 
among  the  pines.  Already  the  dusk  was  paint- 
ing deep  shadows  in  the  woods  across  the  open- 
ing, and  turning  the  sky  a  darker  blue.  Skinner 
rolled  over  twice,  got  up  and  shook  himself  with 
a  satisfied  snort  and  went  away  to  feed.  She 
might,  if  she  were  patient,  run  to  the  horse  when 
ATs  back  was  turned,  she  thought.  Once  in  the 
woods  she  might  have  some  chance  of  eluding 
him,  and  perhaps  Skinner  would  show  as  much 
wisdom  going  as  he  had  in  coming,  and  take  her 
down  to  the  sageland. 

But  Skinner  walked  to  the  farther  edge  of  the 
meadow  before  he  stopped,  and  Al  Woodruff 
never  turned  his  back  to  a  foe.  An  owl  hooted 
unexpectedly,  and  Lorraine  edged  closer  to  her 
captor,  who  was  gathering  dead  branches  one  by 
one  and  throwing  them  toward  a  certain  spot 
which  he  had  evidently  selected  for  a  campfire. 
He  looked  at  her  keenly,  even  suspiciously,  and 
pointed  with  the  stick  in  his  left  hand. 

"  You  might  go  over  there  by  the  saddle  and 


270  THE  QUIRT 

set  down  till  I  get  a  fire  going,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
go  wandering  around  aimless,  like  a  hen  turkey, 
watching  a  chance  to  duck  into  the  brush. 
There's  bear  in  there  and  lion  and  lynx,  and  I'd 
hate  to  see  you  chawed.  They  never  clean  their 
toe-nails,  and  blood  poison  generally  sets  in 
where  they  leave  a  scratch.  Go  and  set  down." 

Lorraine  did  not  know  how  much  of  his  talk 
was  truth,  but  she  went  and  sat  down  by  his 
saddle  and  began  braiding  her  hair  in  two  tight 
braids  like  a  squaw.  If  she  did  get  a  chance  to 
run,  she  thought,  she  did  not  want  her  hair  flying 
loose  to  catch  on  bushes  and  briars.  She  had 
once  fled  through  a  brush  patch  in  Griffith  Park 
with  her  hair  flowing  loose,  and  she  had  not  liked 
the  experience,  though  it  had  looked  very  nice  on 
the  screen. 

Before  she  had  finished  the  braiding,  Al  came 
over  to  the  saddle  and  untied  his  slicker  roll  and 
the  grouse. 

"  Come  on  over  to  the  fire,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
learn  yuh  a  trick  or  two  about  camp  cooking. 
If  I'm  goin'  to  keep  yuh  with  me,  you  might  just 
as  well  learn  how  to  cook.  We'll  be  on  the  trail 
the  biggest  part  of  our  time,  I  expect." 

He  took  her  by  the  arm,  just  as  any  man  might 


"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU!  "     271 

have  done,  and  led  her  to  the  fire  that  was  be- 
ginning to  crackle  cheerfully.  He  set  her  down 
on  the  side  where  the  smoke  would  be  least  likely 
to  blow  her  way  and  proceeded  to  dress  the 
grouse,  stripping  off  skin  and  feathers  together. 
He  unrolled  the  slicker  and  laid  out  a  piece  of 
bacon,  a  package  of  coffee,  a  small  coffeepot,  ban- 
nock and  salt.  The  coffeepot  and  the  grouse  he 
took  in  one  hand — his  left,  Lorraine  observed — 
and  started  toward  the  spring  which  she  could 
hear  gurgling  in  the  shadows  amongst  the  trees. 
Lorraine  watched  him  sidelong.  He  seemed 
to  take  it  for  granted  now  that  she  would  stay 
where  she  was.  The  woods  were  dark,  the  fire- 
light and  the  warmth  enticed  her.  The  sight  of 
the  supper  preparations  made  her  hungrier  than 
she  had  ever  been  in  her  life  before.  When  one 
has  breakfasted  on  one  cup  of  coffee  at  dawn  and 
has  ridden  all  day  with  nothing  to  eat,  running 
away  from  food,  even  though  that  food  is  in  the 
hands  of  one's  captor,  requires  courage.  Lor- 
raine was  terribly  tempted  to  stay,  at  least  until 
she  had  eaten.  But  Al  might  not  give  her  an- 
other chance  like  this.  She  crept  on  her  knees 
to  the  slicker  and  seized  one  piece  of  bannock, 
crawled  out  of  the  firelight  stealthily,  then 


272  THE  QUIRT 

sprang  to  her  feet  and  began  running  straight 
across  the  meadow  toward  Skinner. 

Twenty  yards  she  covered  when  a  bullet  sang 
over  her  head.  Lorraine  ducked,  stumbled  and 
fell  headfirst  over  a  hummock,  not  quite  sure  that 
she  had  not  been  shot. 

"  Thought  ma^be  I  could  trust  yuh  to  play 
square,"  Al  said  disgustedly,  pulling  her  to  her 
feet,  the  gun  still  smoking  in  his  hands.  "  You 
little  fool,  what  do  you  think  you'd  do  in  these 
hills  alone?  You  sure  enough  belittle  me,  if  you 
think  you'd  have  a  chance  in  a  million  of  getting 
away  from  me !  " 

She  fought  him,  then,  with  a  great,  inner  relief 
that  the  situation  was  at  last  swinging  around  to 
a  normal  kidnapping.  Still,  Al  Woodruff  seemed 
unable  to  play  his  part  realistically.  He  failed 
to  fill  her  with  fear  and  repulsion.  She  had  to 
think  back,  to  remember  that  he  had  killed  men, 
in  order  to  realize  her  own  danger.  Now,  for 
instance,  he  merely  forced  her  back  to  the  camp- 
fire,  pulled  the  saddle  strings  from  his  pocket  and 
tied  her  feet  together,  using  a  complicated  knot 
which  he  told  her  she  might  work  on  all  she  darn 
pleased,  for  all  he  cared.  Then  he  went  calmly 
to  work  cooking  their  supper. 


"OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU!"     273 

This  was  simple.  He  divided  the  grouse  so 
that  one  part  had  the  meaty  breast  and  legs,  and 
the  other  the  back  and  wings.  The  meaty  part 
he  larded  neatly  with  strips  of  bacon,  using  his 
hunting  knife, — which  Lorraine  watched  fasci- 
natedly, wondering  if  it  had  ever  taken  the  life  of 
a  man.  He  skewered  the  meat  to.  a  green,  forked 
stick  and  gave  it  to  her  to  broil  for  herself  over 
the  hottest  coals  of  the  fire,  while  he  made  the 
coffee  and  prepared  his  own  portion  of  the 
grouse. 

Lorraine  was  hungry.  She  broiled  the  grouse 
carefully  and  ate  it,  with  the  exception  of  one 
leg,  which  she  surprised  herself  by  offering  to 
Al,  who  was  picking  the  bones  of  his  own  share 
down  to  the  last  shred  of  meat.  She  drank  a 
cup  of  coffee,  black,  and  returned  the  cup  to  the 
killer,  who  unconcernedly  drank  from  it  without 
any  previous  rinsing.  She  ate  bannock  with  her 
meat  and  secretly  thought  what  an  adventure  it 
would  be  if  only  it  were  not  real, — if  only  she 
were  not  threatened  with  a  forced  marriage  to 
this  man.  The  primitive  camp  appealed  to  her ; 
she  who  had  prided  herself  upon  being  an  out- 
door girl  saw  how  she  had  always  played  at  be- 
ing primitive.  This  was  real.  She  would  have 


274  THE  QUIRT 

loved  it  if  only  the  man  opposite  were  Lone,  or 
Swan,  or  some  one  else  whom  she  knew  and 
trusted. 

She  watched  the  firelight  dancing  on  Al's 
somber  face,  softening  its  hardness,  making  it 
almost  wistful  when  he  gazed  thoughtfully  into 
the  coals.  She  tkrilled  when  she  saw  how  watch- 
ful he  was,  how  he  lifted  his  head  and  listened  to 
every  little  night  sound.  She  was  afraid  of  him 
as  she  feared  the  lightning ;  she  feared  his  pitiless 
attitude  toward  human  life.  She  would  find 
some  way  to  outwit  him  when  it  came  to  the 
point  of  marrying  him,  she  thought.  She  would 
escape  him  if  she  could  without  too  great  a  risk 
of  being  shot.  She  felt  absolutely  certain  that 
he  would  shoot  her  with  as  little  compunction  as 
he  would  marry  her  by  force, — and  it  seemed  to 
Lorraine  that  he  would  not  greatly  care  which 
he  did. 

"  I  guess  you're  tired,"  Al  said  suddenly,  rous- 
ing himself  from  deep  study  and  looking  at  her 
imperturbably.  "  I'll  fix  yuh  so  you  can  sleep — 
and  that's  about  all  yuh  can  do." 

He  went  over  to  his  saddle,  took  the  blanket 
and  unfolded  it  until  Lorraine  saw  that  it  was  a 
full-size  bed  blanket  of  heavy  gray  wool.  The 


"  OH,  I  COULD  KILL  YOU! "     275 

man's  ingenuity  seemed  endless.  Without  seem- 
ing to  have  any  extra  luggage,  he  had  neverthe- 
less carried  a  very  enicient  camp  outfit  with  him. 
He  took  his  hunting  knife,  went  to  the  spruce 
grove  and  cut  many  small,  green  branches,  re- 
turning with  all  he  could  hold  in  his  arms.  She 
watched  him  lay  them  tips  up  for  a  mattress,  and 
was  secretly  glad  that  she  knew  this  much  at 
least  of  camp  comfort.  He  spread  the  blanket 
over  them  and  then,  without  a  word,  came  over 
to  her  and  untied  her  feet. 

"Go  and  lay  down  on  the  blanket,"  he  com- 
manded. 

"  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind !  "  Lorraine  set 
her  mouth  stubbornly. 

"  Well,  then  I'll  have  to  lay  you  down,"  said 
Al,  lifting  her  to  her  feet.  "  If  you  get  balky, 
I'm  liable  to  get  rough." 

Lorraine  drew  away  from  him  as  far  as  she 
could  and  looked  at  him  for  a  full  minute.  Al 
stared  back  into  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  I  could  kill 
you ! "  cried  Lorraine  for  the  second  time  that 
day  and  threw  herself  down  on  the  bed,  sobbing 
like  an  angry  child. 

Al  said  nothing.  The  man's  capacity  for  keep- 
ing still  was  amazing.  He  knelt  beside  her, 


276  THE  QUIRT 

folded  the  blanket  over  her  from  the  two  sides, 
and  tied  the  corners  around  her  neck  snugly, 
the  knot  at  the  back.  In  the  same  way  he  tied 
her  ankles.  Lorraine  found  herself  in  a  sleep- 
ing bag  from  which  she  had  small  hope  of  ex- 
tricating herself.  He  took  his  coat,  folded  it 
compactly  and  pushed  it  under  her  head  for  a 
pillow;  then  he  brought  her  own  saddle  blanket 
and  spread  it  over  her  for  extra  warmth. 

"  Now  stop  your  bawling  and  go  to  sleep,"  he 
advised  her  calmly.  "You  ain't  hurt,  and  you 
ain't  going  to  be  as  long  as  you  gentle  down  and 
behave  yourself." 

She  saw  him  draw  the  slicker  over  his  shoul- 
ders and  move  back  where  the  shadows  were  deep 
and  she  could  not  see  him.  She  heard  some  ani- 
mal squall  in  the  woods  behind  them.  She 
looked  up  at  the  stars, — millions  of  them,  and 
brighter  than  she  had  ever  seen  them  before. 
Insensibly  she  quieted,  watching  the  stars,  listen- 
ing to  the  night  noises,  catching  now  and  then  a 
whiff  of  smoke  from  Al  Woodruff's  cigarette. 
Before  she  knew  that  she  was  sleepy,  she  slept. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

"  YACK,  I  LICK  YOU  GOOD  IF  YOU  BAEK  " 

SWAN  cooked  himself  a  hasty  meal  while  he 
studied  the  various  possibilities  of  the  case 
and  waited  for  further  word  from  headquarters. 
He  wanted  to  be  sure  that  help  had  started  and 
to  be  able  to  estimate  within  an  hour  or  two  the 
probable  time  of  its  arrival,  before  he  left  the 
wireless.  Jack  he  fed  and  left  on  watch  outside 
the  cabin,  so  that  he  could  without  risk  keep  open 
the  door  to  the  dugout. 

His  instrument  was  not  a  large  one,  and  the 
dugout  door  was  thick, — as  a  precaution  against 
discovery  if  he  should  be  called  when  some 
visitor  chanced  to  be  in  the  cabin.  Not  often 
did  a  man  ride  that  way,  though  occasionally 
some  one  stopped  for  a  meal  if  he  knew  that  the 
cabin  was  there  and  had  ever  tasted  Swan's  sour- 
dough biscuits.  His  aerial  was  cleverly  camou- 
flaged between  the  two  pine  trees,  and  he  had  no 
fear  of  discovery  there;  Jack  was  a  faithful 


278  THE  QUIRT 

guardian  and  would  give  warning  if  any  one  ap- 
proached the  place.  Swan  could  therefore  give 
his  whole  attention  to  the  business  at  hand. 

He  was  not  yet  supplied  with  evidence  enough 
to  warrant  arresting  Warfield  and  Hawkins,  but 
he  hoped  to  get  it  when  the  real  crisis  came. 
They  could  not  have  known  of  Al  Woodruff's  in- 
tentions toward  Lorraine,  else  they  would  have 
kept  themselves  in  the  background  and  would  not 
have  risked  the  failure  of  their  own  plan. 

On  the  other  hand,  Al  must  have  been  wholly 
ignorant  of  Warfield's  scheme  to  try  and  prove 
Lorraine  crazy.  It  looked  to  Swan  very  much 
like  a  muddling  of  the  Sawtooth  affairs  through 
over-anxiety  to  avoid  trouble.  They  were  afraid 
of  what  Lorraine  knew.  They  wanted  to 
eliminate  her,  and  they  had  made  the  blunder 
of  working  independently  to  that  end. 

Lone's  anxiety  he  did  not  even  consider.  He 
believed  that  Lone  would  be  equal  to  any  immedi- 
ate emergency  and  would  do  whatever  the  cir- 
cumstances seemed  to  require  of  him.  Warfield 
counted  him  a  Sawtooth  man.  Al  Woodruff,  if 
the  four  men  met  unexpectedly,  would  also  take 
it  for  granted  that  he  was  one  of  them.  They 
would  probably  talk  to  Lone  without  reserve, — 


"  YACK,  I  LICK  YOU  GOOD  "     279 

Swan  counted  on  that.  Whereas,  if  he  were 
present,  they  would  be  on  their  guard,  at 
least. 

Swan's  plan  was  to  wait  at  the  cabin  until  he 
knew  that  deputies  were  headed  toward  the  Pass. 
Then,  with  Jack,  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to 
follow  Warfield  to  where  he  overtook  Al, — sup- 
posing he  did  overtake  him.  If  he  did  not,  then 
Swan  meant  to  be  present  when  the  meeting  oc- 
curred. The  dog  would  trail  Al  anywhere,  since 
the  scent  would  be  less  than  twenty-four  hours 
old.  Swan  would  locate  Warfleld  and  lead  him 
straight  to  Al  Woodruff,  and  then  make  his  ar- 
rests. But  he  wanted  to  have  the  deputies  there. 

At  dusk  he  got  his  call.  He  learned  that  four 
picked  men  had  started  for  the  Pass,  and  that 
they  would  reach  the  divide  by  daybreak. 
Others  were  on  their  way  to  intercept  Al  Wood- 
ruff if  he  crossed  before  then. 

It  was  all  that  Swan  could  have  hoped  for, — 
more  than  he  had  dared  to  expect  on  such  short 
notice.  He  notified  the  operator  that  he  would 
not  be  there  to  receive  anything  else,  until  he  re- 
turned to  report  that  he  had  got  his  men. 

"Don't  count  your  chickens  till  they're 
hatched,"  came  facetiously  out  of  the  blue. 


280  THE  QUIRT 

"  By  golly,  I  can  hear  them  holler  in  the  shell," 
Swan  sent  back,  grinning  to  himself  as  he  rattled 
the  key.  "  That  irrigation  graft  is  killed  now. 
You  tell  the  boss  Swan  says  so.  He's  right.  The 
way  to  catch  a  fox  is  to  watch  his  den." 

He  switched  off  the  current,  closed  the  case 
and  went  out,  making  sure  that  the  cupboard- 
camouflaged  door  looked  perfectly  innocent  on 
the  outside.  With  a  bannock  stuffed  into  one 
pocket,  a  chunk  of  bacon  in  the  other,  he  left 
the  cabin  and  swung  off  again  in  that  long,  tire- 
less stride  of  his,  Jack  following  contentedly  at 
his  heels. 

At  the  farther  end  of  Skyline  Meadow  he 
stopped,  took  a  tough  leather  leash  from  his 
pocket  and  fastened  it  to  Jack's  collar. 

"  We  don't  go  running  to  paw  nobody's  stom- 
ach and  say,  *  Wow-wow!  Here  we  are  back 
again ! '  "  he  told  the  dog,  pulling  its  ears  affec- 
tionately. "  Maybe  we  get  shot  or  something  like 
that.  We  trail,  and  we  keep  our  mouth  still, 
Yack.  One  bark,  and  I  lick  you  good !  " 

Jack  flashed  out  a  pink  tongue  and  licked  his 
master's  chin  to  show  how  little  he  was  worried 
over  the  threat,  and  went  racing  along  at  the 
end  of  the  leash,  taking  Swan's  trail  and  his  own 


"  YACK,  I  LICK  YOU  GOOD  "     281 

back  to  where  they  had  climbed  out  of  the 
canyon. 

At  the  bottom  Swan  spoke  to  the  dog  in  an 
undertone,  and  Jack  obediently  started  up  the 
canyon  on  the  trail  of  the  five  horses  who  had 
passed  that  way  since  noon.  It  was  starlight 
now,  and  Swan  did  not  hurry.  He  was  taking  it 
for  granted  that  Warfield  and  Hawkins  would 
step  when  it  became  too  dark  to  follow  the  hoof- 
prints,  and  without  Jack  to  show  them  the  way 
they  would  perforce  remain  where  they  were 
until  daybreak. 

They  would  do  that,  he  reasoned,  if  they  were 
sincere  in  wanting  to  overtake  Lorraine  and  in 
their  ignorance  that  they  were  also  following  Al 
Woodruff.  And  try  as  he  would,  he  could  not 
see  the  object  of  so  foolish  a  plan  as  this  abduc- 
tion carried  out  in  collusion  with  two  men  of  un- 
known sentiments  in  the  party.  They  had  shown 
no  suspicion  of  Al's  part  in  the  affair,  and  Swan 
grinned  when  he  thought  of  the  mutual  surprise 
when  they  met. 

He  was  not  disappointed.  They  reached  tim- 
ber line,  following  the  seldom  used  trail  that 
wound  over  the  divide  to  Bear  Top  Pass  and  so, 
by  a  difficult  route  which  he  did  not  believe  Al 


282  THE  QUIRT 

would  attempt  after  dark,  to  the  country  beyond 
the  mountain.  Where  dark  overtook  them,  they 
stopped  in  a  sheltered  nook  to  wait,  just  as  Swan 
had  expected  they  would.  They  were  close  to  the 
trail,  where  no  one  could  pass  without  their 
knowledge. 

In  the  belief  that  it  was  only  Lorraine  they 
were  following,  and  that  she  would  be  frightened 
and  would  come  to  the  cheer  of  a  campfire,  they 
had  a  fine,  inviting  blaze.  Swan  made  his  way 
as  close  as  he  dared,  without  being  discovered, 
and  sat  down  to  wait.  He  could  see  nothing 
of  the  men  until  Lone  appeared  and  fed  the 
flames  more  wood,  and  sat  down  where  the  light 
shone  on  his  face.  Swan  grinned  again.  Warfleld 
had  probably  decided  that  Lorraine  would  be  less 
afraid  of  Lone  than  of  them  and  had  ordered  him 
into  the  firelight  as  a  sort  of  decoy.  And  Lone, 
knowing  that  Al  Woodruff  might  be  within  shoot- 
ing distance,  was  probably  much  more  uncom- 
fortable than  he  looked. 

He  sat  with  his  legs  crossed  in  true  range 
fashion  and  stared  into  the  fire  while  he  smoked. 
He  was  a  fair  mark  for  an  enemy  who  might  be 
lurking  out  there  in  the  dark,  but  he  gave  no 
sign  that  he  realized  the  danger  of  his  position. 


'YACK,  I  LICK  YOU  GOOD"    288 

Neither  did  he  wear  any  air  of  expectancy.  War- 
field  and  Hawkins  might  wait  and  listen  and 
hope  that  Lorraine,  wide-eyed  and  weary,  would 
steal  up  to  the  warmth  of  the  fire ;  but  not  Lone. 
Swan,  sitting  on  a  rotting  log,  became  uneasy 
at  the  fine  target  which  Lone  made  by  the  fire, 
and  drew  Al  Woodruff's  blue  bandanna  from  his 
pocket.  He  held  it  to  Jack's  nose  and  whispered, 
"  You  find  him,  Yack — and  I  lick  you  good  if  you 
bark."  Jack  sniffed,  dropped  his  nose  to  the 
ground  and  began  tugging  at  the  leash.  Swan 
got  up  and,  moving  stealthily,  followed  the  dog. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

"I  COULDA  LOVED  THIS  LITTLE  GIRL  " 

A  CHILL  wind  that  hurried  over  Bear  Top 
ahead  of  the  dawn  brought  Swan  and  Jack 
clattering  up  the  trail  that  dipped  into  Spirit 
Canyon.  Warfield  rose  stiffly  from  the  one-sided 
warmth  of  the  fire  and  walked  a  few  paces  to 
meet  him,  shrugging  his  wide  shoulders  at  the 
cold  and  rubbing  his  thigh  muscles  that  pro- 
tested against  movement.  Much  riding  upon  up- 
holstered cushions  had  not  helped  Senator  War- 
field  to  retain  the  tough  muscles  of  hard-riding 
Bill  Warfield.  The  senator  was  saddle-sore  as 
well  as  hungry,  and  his  temper  showed  in  his 
blood-shot  eyes.  He  would  have  quarreled  with 
his  best-beloved  woman  that  morning,  and  he  be- 
gan on  Swan. 

Why  hadn't  he  come  back  down  the  gulch 
yesterday  and  helped  track  the  girl,  as  he  was 
told  to  do?  (The  senator  had  quite  unpleasant 
opinions  of  Swedes,  and  crazy  women,  and  dogs 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          285 

that  were  never  around  when  they  were  wanted, 
and  he  expressed  them  fluently. ) 

Swan  explained  with  a  great  deal  of  labor  that 
he  had  not  thought  he  was  wanted,  and  that  he 
had  to  sleep  on  his  claim  sometimes  or  the  law 
would  take  it  from  him,  maybe.  Also  he  virtu- 
ously pointed  out  that  he  had  come  with  Yack 
before  daylight  to  the  canyon  to  see  if  they  had 
found  Miss  Hunter  and  gone  home,  or  if  they 
were  still  hunting  for  her. 

"  If  you  like  to  find  that  Jong  lady,  I  put  Yack 
on  the  trail  quick,"  he  offered  placatingly.  "  I 
bet  you  Yack  finds  her  in  one-half  an  hour." 

With  much  unnecessary  language,  Senator 
Warfield  told  him  to  get  to  work,  and  the  three 
tightened  cinches,  mounted  their  horses  and  pre- 
pared to  follow  Swan's  lead.  Swan  watched  his 
chance  and  gave  Lone  a  chunk  of  bannock  as  a 
substitute  for  breakfast,  and  Lone,  I  may  add, 
dropped  behind  his  companions  and  ate  every 
crumb  of  it,  in  spite  of  his  worry  over  Lor- 
raine. 

Indeed,  Swan  eased  that  worry  too,  when  they 
were  climbing  the  pine  slope  where  Al  had  killed 
the  grouse.  Lone  had  forged  ahead  on  John  Doe, 
and  Swan  stopped  suddenly,  pointing  to  the  spot 


286  THE  QUIRT 

where  a  few  bloody  feathers  and  a  boot-print 
showed.  The  other  evidence  Jack  had  eaten  in 
the  night. 

1  "  Kaine's  all  right,  Lone.  Got  men  coming. 
Keep  your  gun  handy,"  he  murmured  and  turned 
away  as  the  others  rode  up,  eager  for  whatever 
news  Swan  had  to  offer. 

"  Something  killed  a  bird,"  Swan  explained 
politely,  planting  one  of  his  own  big  feet  over 
the  track,  which  did  not  in  the  least  resemble 
Lorraine's.  "Yack!  you  find  that  Jong  lady 
quick ! " 

From  there  on  Swan  walked  carefully,  putting 
his  foot  wherever  a  print  of  Al's  boot  was  visible. 
Since  he  was  much  bigger  than  Al,  with  a  cor- 
respondingly longer  stride,  his  gait  puzzled  Lone 
until  he  saw  just  what  Swan  was  doing.  Then 
his  eyes  lightened  with  amused  appreciation  of 
the  Swede's  cunning. 

"  We  ought  to  have  some  hot  drink,  or  whisky, 
when  we  find  that  girl,"  Hawkins  muttered  unex- 
pectedly, riding  up  beside  Lone  as  they  crossed 
an  open  space.  "  She'll  be  half -dead  with  cold — 
if  we  find  her  alive." 

Before  Lone  could  answer,  Swan  looked  back 
at  the  two  and  raised  his  hand  for  them  to  stop. 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          287 

"  Better  if  you  leave  the  horses  here,"  he  sug- 
gested. "  From  Yack  I  know  we  get  close  pretty 
quick.  That  Jong  lady's  horse  maybe  smells 
these  horse  and  makes  a  noise,  and  crazy  folks 
run  from  noise." 

Without  objection  the  three  dismounted  and 
tied  their  horses  securely  to  trees.  Then,  with 
Swan  and  Jack  leading  the  way,  they  climbed 
over  the  ridge  and  descended  into  the  hollow  by 
way  of  the  ledge  which  Skinner  had  negotiated 
so  carefully  the  night  before.  Without  the  dog 
they  never  would  have  guessed  that  any  one  had 
passed  this  way,  but  as  it  was  they  made  good 
progress  and  reached  the  nearest  edge  of  the 
spruce  thicket  just  as  the  sun  was  making  ready 
to  push  up  over  the  skyline. 

Jack  stopped  and  looked  up  at  his  master 
inquiringly,  lifting  his  lip  at  the  sides  and  show- 
ing his  teeth.  But  he  made  no  sound;  nor  did 
Swan,  when  he  dropped  his  fingers  to  the  dog's 
head  and  patted  him  approvingly. 

They  heard  a  horse  sneeze,  beyond  the  spruce 
grove,  and  Warfield  stepped  forward  authorita- 
tively, waving  Swan  back.  This,  his  manner 
said  plainly,  was  first  and  foremost  his  affair,  and 
from  now  on  he  would  take  charge  of  the  situa- 


288  THE  QUIRT 

tion.  At  his  heels  went  Hawkins,  and  Swan  sent 
an  oblique  glance  of  satisfaction  toward  Lone, 
who  answered  it  with  his  half -smile.  Swan  him- 
self could  not  have  planned  the  approach  more 
to  his  liking. 

The  smell  of  bacon  cooking  watered  their 
mouths  and  made  Warfield  and  Hawkins  look  at 
one  another  inquiringly.  Crazy  young  women 
would  hardly  be  expected  to  carry  a  camping 
outfit.  But  Swan  and  Lone  were  treading  close 
on  their  heels,  and  their  own  curiosity  pulled 
them  forward.  They  went  carefully  around  the 
thicket,  guided  by  the  pungent  odor  of  burning 
pine  wood,  and  halted  so  abruptly  that  Swan  and 
Lone  bumped  into  them  from  behind.  A  man 
had  risen  up  from  the  campfire  and  faced  them, 
his  hands  rising  slowly,  palms  outward. 

"Warfield,  by !"  Al  blurted  in  his  out- 
raged astonishment.  "  Trailing  me  with  a  bunch, 
are  yuh?  I  knew  you'd  double-cross  your  own 
father — but  I  never  thought  you  had  it  in  you  to 
do  it  in  the  open.  Damn  yuh,  what  d'yuh  want 
that  you  expect  to  get?  " 

Warfield  stared  at  him,  slack-jawed.  He 
glanced  furtively  behind  him  at  Swan,  and  found 
that  guileness  youth  ready  to  poke  him  in  the 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          289 

back  with  the  muzzle  of  a  gun.  Lone,  he  ob- 
served, had  another.  He  looked  back  at  Al, 
whose  eyes  were  ablaze  with  resentment.  With 
an  effort  he  smiled  his  disarming,  senatorial 
smile,  but  Al's  next  words  froze  it  on  his  face. 

"  I  think  I  know  the  play  you're  making,  but 
it  won't  get  you  anything,  Bill  Warfleld.  You 
think  I  slipped  up — and  you  told  me  not  to  let 
my  foot  slip;  said  you'd  hate  to  lose  me.  Well, 
you're  the  one  that  slipped,  you  damned,  rotten 
coward.  I  was  watching  out  for  leaks.  I 
stopped  two,  and  this  one " 

He  glanced  down  at  Lorraine,  who  sat  beside 
the  fire,  a  blanket  tied  tightly  around  her  waist 
and  her  ankles,  so  that,  while  comfortably  free, 
she  could  make  no  move  to  escape. 

"  I  was  fixing  to  stop  her  from  telling  all  she 
knew,"  he  added  harshly.  "  By  to-night  I'd  have 
had  her  married  to  me,  you  damned  fool.  And 
here  you've  blocked  everything  for  me,  afraid  I 
was  falling  down  on  my  job! 

"  Now  folks,  lemme  just  tell  you  a  few  little 
things.  I  know  my  limit — you've  got  me  dead  to 
rights.  I  ain't  complaining  about  that;  a  man 
in  my  game  expects  to  get  his,  some  day.  But  I 
ain't  going  to  let  the  man  go  that  paid  me  my 


290  THE  QUIRT 

wages  and  a  bonus  of  five  hundred  dollars  for 
every  man  I  killed  that  he  wanted  outa  the 
way. 

"  Hawkins  knows  that's  a  fact.  He's  foreman 
of  the  Sawtooth,  and  he  knows  the  agreement. 
I've  got  to  say  for  Hawkins  that  aside  from 
stealing  cattle  off  the  nesters  and  helping  make 
evidence  against  some  that's  in  jail,  Hawkins 
never  done  any  dirty  work.  He  didn't  have  to. 
They  paid  me  for  that  end  of  the  business. 

"  I  killed  Fred  Thurman — this  girl,  here,  saw 
me  shoot  him.  And  it  was  when  I  told  Warfield 
I  was  afraid  she  might  set  folks  talking  that  he 
began  to  get  cold  feet.  Up  to  then  everything 
was  lovely,  but  Warfield  began  to  crawfish  a 
little.  We  figured — we  figured,  emphasize  the 
we,  folks, — that  the  Quirt  would  have  to  be  put 
outa  business.  We  knew  if  the  girl  told  Brit  and 
Frank,  they'd  maybe  get  the  nerve  to  try  and  pin 
something  on  us.  We've  stole  'em  blind  for 
years,  and  they  wouldn't  cry  if  we  got  hung. 
Besides,  they  was  friendly  with  Fred. 

"  The  girl  and  the  Swede  got  in  the  way  when 
I  tried  to  bump  Brit  off.  I'd  have  gone  into  the 
canyon  and  finished  him  with  a  rock,  but  they 
beat  me  to  it.  The  girl  herself  I  couldn't  get  at 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          291 

very  well  and  make  it  look  accidental — and  any- 
way, I  never  did  kill  a  woman,  and  I'd  hate  it 
like  hell.  I  figured  if  her  dad  got  killed,  she'd 
leave. 

"And  let  me  tell  you,  folks,  Warfield  raised 
hell  with  me  because  Brit  Hunter  wasn't  killed 
when  he  pitched  over  the  grade.  He  held  out  on 
me  for  that  job — so  I'm  collecting  five  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  fun  right  now.  He  did  say 
he'd  pay  me  after  Brit  was  dead,  but  it  looks 
like  he's  going  to  pull  through,  so  I  ain't 
counting  much  on  getting  my  money  outa 
Warfield. 

"  Frank  I  got,  and  made  a  clean  job  of  it.  And 
yesterday  morning  the  girl  played  into  my  hands. 
She  rode  over  to  the  Sawtooth,  and  I  got  her  at 
Thurman's  place,  on  her  way  home,  and  figured 
I'd  marry  her  and  take  a  chance  on  keeping  her 
quiet  afterwards.  I'd  have  been  down  the  Pass 
in  another  two  hours  and  heading  for  the  nearest 
county  seat.  She'd  have  married  me,  too.  She 
knows  I'd  have  killed  her  if  she  didn't — which  I 
would.  I've  been  square  with  her — she'll  tell  you 
that.  I  told  her,  when  I  took  her,  just  what  I 
was  going  to  do  with  her.  So  that's  all  straight. 
She's  been  scared,  I  guess,  but  she  ain't  gone 


292  THE  QUIRT 

hungry,  and  she  ain't  suffered,  except  in  her 
mind.  I  don't  fight  women,  and  I'll  say  right 
now,  to  her  and  to  you,  that  I've  got  all  the  re- 
spect in  the  world  for  this  little  girl,  and  if  I'd 
married  her  I'd  have  been  as  good  to  her  as  I 
know  how,  and  as  she'd  let  me  be. 

"Now  I  want  to  tell  you  folks  a  few  more 
things  about  Bill  Warfield.  If  you  want  to  stop 
the  damnest  steal  in  the  country,  tie  a  can  onto 
that  irrigation  scheme  of  his.  He's  out  to  hold 
up  the  State  for  all  he  can  get,  and  bleed  the  poor 
devils  of  farmers  white,  that  buys  land  under 
that  canal.  It  may  look  good,  but  it  ain't  good — 
not  by  a  damn  sight. 

"  Yuk  know  what  he's  figuring  on  doing?  Get 
water  in  the  canal,  sell  land  under  a  contract 
that  lets  him  out  if  the  ditch  breaks,  or  some- 
thing so  he  can't  supply  water  at  any  time.  And 
when  them  poor  suckers  gets  their  crops  all  in, 
and  at  the  point  where  they've  got  to  have  water 
or  lose  out,  something'll  happen  to  the  supply. 
Folks,  I  know!  I'm  a  reliable  man,  and  I've 
rode  with  a  rope  around  my  neck  for  over  five 
years,  and  Warfield  offered  me  the  same  old  five 
hundred  every  time  I  monkeyed  with  the  water 
supply  as  ordered.  He'd  have  done  it  slick; 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          293 

don't  worry  none  about  that.  The  biggest  band 
of  thieves  he  could  get  together  is  that  company. 
So  if  you  folks  have  got  any  sense,  you'll  bust  it 
up  right  now. 

" Bill  Warfield,  what  I've  got  to  say  to 'you 
won't  take  long.  You  thought  you'd  make  a 
grand-stand  play  with  the  law,  and  at  the  same 
time  put  me  outa  the  way.  You  figured  I'd 
resist  arrest,  and  you'd  have  a  chance  to  shoot 
me  down.  I  know  your  rotten  mind  better  than 
you  do.  You  wanted  to  bump  me  off,  but  you 
wanted  to  do  it  in  a  way  that'd  put  you  in  right 
with  the  public.  Killing  me  for  kidnapping 
this  girl  would  sound  damn  romantic  in  the 
newspapers,  and  it  wouldn't  have  a  thing 
to  do  with  Thurman  or  Frank  Johnson,  or 
any  of  the  rest  that  I've  sent  over  the  trail  for 
you. 

"  Right  now  you're  figuring  how  you'll  get 
around  this  bawling-out  I'm  giving  you.  There's 
nobody  to  take  down  what  I  say,  and  I'm  just  a 
mean,  ornery  outlaw  and  killer,  talking  for  spite. 
With  your  pull  you  expect  to  get  this  smoothed 
over  and  hushed  up,  and  have  me  at  a  hanging 
bee,  and  everything  all  right  for  Bill !  Well " 

His  eyes  left  Warfield's  face  and  went  beyond 


294  THE  QUIRT 

the  staring  group.  His  face  darkened,  a  sneer 
twisted  his  lips. 

"Who're  them  others?"  he  cried  harshly. 
"Was  you  afraid  four  wouldn't  be  enough  to 
take  me?  " 

The  four  turned  heads  to  look.  Bill  Warfield 
never  looked  back,  for  Al's  gun  spoke,  and  War- 
field  sagged  at  the  knees  and  the  shoulders,  and 
he  slumped  to  the  ground  at  the  instant  when 
Al's  gun  spoke  again. 

"  That's  for  you,  Lone  Morgan,"  Al  cried,  as 
he  fired  again.  "  She  talked  about  you  in  her 
sleep  last  night.  She  called  you  Loney,  and  she 
wanted  you  to  come  and  get  her.  I  was  going 
to  kill  you  first  chance  I  got.  I  coulda  loved  this 
little  girl.  I — could " 

He  was  down,  bleeding  and  coughing  and  try- 
ing to  talk.  Swan  had  shot  him,  and  two  of  the 
deputies  who  had  been  there  through  half  of 
Al's  bitter  talk.  Lorraine,  unable  to  get  up  and 
run,  too  sturdy  of  soul  to  faint,  had  rolled  over 
and  away  from  him,  her  lips  held  tightly  to- 
gether, her  eyes  wide  with  horror.  Al  crawled 
after  her,  his  eyes  pleading. 

"Little  Spitfire — I  shot  your  Loney — but  I'd 
have  been  good  to  you,  girl.  I  watched  yuh  all 


"  I  COULDA  LOVED  "          295 

night — and   I   couldn't   help   loving   yuh.     I — 

couldn't "    That  was  all.    Within  three  feet 

of  her,  his  face  toward  her  and  his  eyes  agonizing 
to  meet  hers,  he  died. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

ANOTHER  STORY  BEGINS 

chapter  is  very  much  like  a  preface :  it 
•*•  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  although  many 
persons  will  read  it  and  a  few  will  be  glad  that 
it  was  written. 

The  story  itself  is  ended.  To  go  on  would  be 
to  begin  another  story ;  to  tell  of  the  building  up 
of  the  Quirt  outfit,  with  Lone  and  Lone's  savings 
playing  a  very  important  part,  and  with  Brit  a 
semi-invalided,  retired  stockman  who  smoked  his 
pipe  and  told  the  young  couple  what  they  should 
do  and  how  they  should  do  it. 

Frank  he  mourned  for  and  seldom  mentioned. 
The  Sawtooth,  under  the  management  of  a 
greatly  chastened  young  Bob  Warfield,  was 
slowly  winning  its  way  back  to  the  respect  of  its 
neighbors. 

For  certain  personal  reasons  there  was  no  real 
neighborliness  between  the  Quirt  and  the  Saw- 
tooth. There  could  not  be,  so  long  as  Brit's 
memory  remained  clear,  and  Bob  was  every  day 


ANOTHER  STORY  BEGINS      297 

reminded  of  the  crimes  his  father  had  paid  a  man 
to  commit.  Moreover,  Southerners  are  jealous 
of  their  women, — it  is  their  especial  prerogative. 
And  Lone  suspected  that,  given  the  opportunity, 
Bob  Warfield  would  have  fallen  in  love  with 
Lorraine.  Indeed,  he  suspected  that  any  man  in 
the  country  would  have  done  that.  Al  Woodruff 
had,  and  he  was  noted  for  his  indifference  to 
women  and  his  implacable  hardness  toward  men. 

But  you  are  not  to  accuse  Lone  of  being  a 
jealous  husband.  He  was  not,  and  I  am  merely 
pointing  out  the  fact  that  he  might  have  been, 
had  he  been  given  any  cause. 

Oh,  by  the  way,  Swan  "  proved  up  "  as  soon  as 
possible  on  his  homestead  and  sold  out  to  the 
Quirt.  Lone  managed  to  buy  the  Thurman  ranch 
also,  and  the  T J  up-and-down  is  on  its  feet  again 
as  a  cattle  ranch.  Sorry  and  Jim  will  ride  for 
the  Quirt,  I  suppose,  as  long  as  they  can  crawl 
into  a  saddle,  but  there  are  younger  men  now  to 
ride  the  Skyline  Meadow  range. 

Some  one  asked  about  Yellowjacket,  having,  I 
suppose,  a  sneaking  regard  for  his  infirmities. 
He  hasn't  been  peeled  yet — or  he  hadn't,  the  last 
I  heard  of  him.  Lone  and  Lorraine  told  me  they 
were  trying  to  save  him  for  the  "Little  Feller"  to 


298  THE  QUIRT 

practise  on  when  he  is  able  to  sit  up  without  a 
cushion  behind  his  back,  and  to  hold  something 
besides  a  rubber  rattle.  And — oh,  do  you  know 
how  Lone  is  teaching  the  Little  Feller  to  sit  up 
on  the  floor?  He  took  a  horse  collar  and  scrubbed 
it  until  he  nearly  wore  out  the  leather.  Then  he 
brought  it  to  the  cabin,  put  it  on  the  floor  and  set 
the  Little  Feller  inside  it. 

They  sent  me  a  snap-shot  of  the  event,  but  it  is 
not  very  good.  The  film  was  under-exposed,  and 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the  Little  Feller  except 
a  hazy  spot  which  I  judged  was  a  hand,  holding 
a  black  object  I  guessed  was  the  ridgy,  rubber 
rattle  with  the  whistle  gone  out  of  the  end, — 
down  the  Little  Feller's  throat,  they  are  afraid. 
And  there  was  his  smile,  and  a  glimpse  of  his 
eyes. 

Aren't  you  envious  as  sin,  and  glad  they're  so 
happy? 


THE  END 


NOVELS  BY  B.  M.  BOWER 


THE  RANCH  AT  THE  WOLVERINE 

A  ringing  tale  full  of  exhilarating  cowboy  atmosphere,  abundantly 
and  absorbingly  illustrating  the  outstanding  feature  of  that  alluring 
ranch  life  that  is  fast  vanishing. — Chicago  Tribune. 

JEAN  OF  THE  LAZY  A 

A  spirited  novel  of  ranch  life  in  which  the  fascinating 
heroine  poses  for  film  pictures  that  she  may  make  money 
necessary  to  prove  her  father  innocent  of  a  crime  for  which 
he  has  been  convicted. 

It  possesses  all  the  popular  ingredients — a  quick-action  plot,  color 
and  picturesqueness  aplenty,  and  an  unflagging  interest — to  be 
found  in  Bower's  earlier  successes. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

THE  PHANTOM  HERD 

Another  western  tale  in  which  the  Happy  Family  be- 
come real  "movie"  actors. 

There  has  been  so  much  truck  written  in  the  last  few  years  about 
motion  pictures,  that  it  is  a  positive  relief  to  find  a  book  by  an  author 
who  knows  exactly  what  to  talk  about  in  an  entertaining  manner 
with  a  knowledge  of  actual  conditions  as  they  exist. — Boston  Post. 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  SIOUX 

A  Flying  U  story  in  which  the  Happy  Family  get 
mixed  up  in  a  robbery  faked  for  film  purposes. 

Altogether  a  rattling  story,  that  is  better  in  conception  and  ex- 
pression than  the  conventional  thriller  on  account  of  its  touches  of 
real  humanity  in  characterization. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

RIM  O'  THE  WORLD 

An  engrossing  tale  of  a  ranch-feud  between  "gun- 
fighters"  in  Idaho. 

______ 

LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


NOVELS  BY  B.  M.  BOWER 


THE  LOOKOUT  MAN 

A  tale  of  action,  excitement  and  love,  full  of  the  charm 
of  the  great  outdoors,  in  which  the  story  of  the  life  at  a 
Forest  Reserve  Station  on  top  of  a  California  mountain 
is  vividly  portrayed. 

The  signature  of  B.  M.  Bower  is  a  valuable  trade-mark.  It 
stands  for  fiction  filled  with  the  spirit  of  ranch  life  in  the  northwest. 
— Boston  Herald. 

CABIN  FEVER 

How  Bud  Moore  and  his  wife,  Marie,  fared  through 
their  attack  of  "cabin  fever"  is  the  theme  of  this  B.  M. 
Bower  story. 

The  author  has  put  some  real  sentiment  into  a  story  that  gives 
a  rapidly  filmed  "movie"  of  Western  life. — Philadelphia  Public 
Ledger. 

STARR,  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  story  of  mystery,  love  and  adventure,  which  has  a 
Mexican  revolt  as  its  main  theme. 

The  tale  is  well  written,  with  the  fine  art  of  artlessness,  and  of  un- 
flagging interest;  a  book  worth  the  reading  which  it  is  sure  to  get 
from  every  one  who  begins  it. —  New  Tork  Tribune. 

THE  FLYING  U'S  LAST  STAND 

What  happened  when  a  company  of  school  teachers  and 
farmers  encamped  on  the  grounds  of  the  Flying  U  Ranch. 

The  Northwestern  cattle  country  has  never  had  a  better  chronicler 
in  fiction  of  its  deeds  and  its  people  than  B.  M.  Bower. —  New  Tork 
'Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


NOVELS  BY  B.  M.  BOWER 


GOOD  INDIAN 

A  story  named  for  its  half-breed  hero,  who  dominates 
this  stirring  Western  romance. 

There  is  excitement  and  action  on  every  page  .  .  A  somewhat 
unusual  love  story  runs  through  the  book. — Boston  Transcript. 

THE  UPHILL  CLIMB 

How  a  cowboy  fought  the  hardest  of  all  battles — a 
fight  against  himself. 

Bower  knows  the  West  of  the  cowboys,  as  do  few  writers  to-day 
.  .  .  The  word  pictures  of  Western  life  are  realistic,  and  strongly 
suffused  with  local  color. — Philadelphia  North  American. 

LONESOME  LAND 

A  story  of  modern  Montana,  giving  a  wholly  different 
phase  of  life  among  the  ranches. 

Montana  described  as  it  really  is,  is  the  "lonesome  land"  of  this 
new  Bower  story.  A  prairie  fire  and  the  death  of  the  worthless 
husband  are  especially  well  handled. — A.  L.  A.  Booklist. 

SKYRIDER 

A  cowboy  who  becomes  an  aviator  is  the  hero  of  this 
new  story  of  Western  ranch  life. 

An  engrossing  ranch  story  with  a  new  note  of  interest  woven  into 
its  breezy  texture. — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

THE  THUNDER  BIRD 

Further  aeronautic  adventures  of  "Skyrider"  Johnnie 
Jewel. 

"A  good  story  with  numberless  thrills  and  a  humorous  quality 
throughout  its  pages." — New  Tork  Sun. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


BS 


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